“MOM!” I cried.

It was Margaret who yelled back. “Mom’s out. She said dinner will be ready in a few hours.”

“IT’S ROOT. HE-”

She came running up the stairs and pushed the door open.  “What happened?”

“He’s hurt!” I said. “He needs to be sewn back up.”

She frowned. “Looks like Chewie got him pretty bad, huh?”

“Yeah. Can you fix him?”

“No, sorry. I guess you’ll have to wait for mom to get home.”

She meant well but she didn’t really understand medicine. The longer Root went without legs, the worse he’d get. I had to keep my head about it. I had to find someone else to help me.

She smiled.  “You’re taking this very well.”

“Well… Yeah.”  I laughed nervously.  I put on a brave facade, hiding the anguish that cruel fate had bestowed upon me.

She patted me on the head and walked away. The moment she was gone, I went for the phone. I figured all the bedrooms had phones for exactly this kind of emergency. I dialled Katie’s number. Her mom answered.

“Hello?” she said.

“Mrs. McFadden, is Katie there?”

“Hello Robbie. Sure thing. She’s just getting out of the bath.”

“Again?”

“Just one sec.”

Moments later, Katie was on. “Hey Robbie. What’s up?”

Katie was my age. I met her in Grade 1 so she’d had six years to develop medical skills. I had to ask. “Root’s been injured. His legs have been torn off. I was wondering if you had any surgical skills.”

“Well, I did do some surgical work on your little G.I. Joe dolls when we were kids.”

“Not dolls. Action figures, Katie. Please. This is serious. And melting Peking Duke’s head with a magnifying glass isn’t surgery.”

“Plastic surgery counts!” Katie said defensively. She then sounded confused. “Peking Duke?”

“They were made in China.” I was stunned.  “Do you know any qualified stuffed animal doctors?” I asked, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.

“You remember Deborah Addison from school?”

“I don’t really hang out with a lot of girls.”

Katie was silent for a moment. “Well, she knows how to sew and she wants to be a vet when she grows up. Her credentials are flawless.”

“You know where she lives?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk you there. You really shouldn’t be alone for this.”

“You’re a good friend, Katie. You’re like a boy or something.”

There was another pause. “Okay.  Just wait, I’ll be right over.”

She came to the door a few minutes later wearing a black dress and a veil.

“He’s not dead, Katie.”

“Just in case.”

I went and retrieved Root, his legs, and as much stuffing as I could find and placed him gently in a plastic bag. I shut the back door behind me. “Alright, let’s go.”

Elm Grove isn’t a big town and it doesn’t usually take long to get from one place to another. We arrived at Deborah’s house and knocked on her door. When she answered, she looked at us. Then she looked at Katie in the ratty black dress and she gasped. “Oh no!  Who died?”

“Root… possibly,” was Katie’s answer.

I just glared at her.

“Who’s Root?” Deborah asked.

I realized that maybe there were some people who didn’t know who Root was. “Root’s my teddy bear. His legs were tragically ripped from his body.”

Katie placed her hand on my shoulder. “I told him that you would have the surgical expertise to help.”

“Did you bring the patient?” She said, frowning.

“He’s right here,” I said, opening up the bag and showing her the contents.

Deborah gasped and took a step back, placing her hand on her mouth.

“Can you help him?” I asked. Desperation echoed through my voice.

“I don’t know Robbie. I don’t know. But I tell you this: you’ve come to the best.” She nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

She gestured for us to come inside and led us to the dining room. There was a large wooden table in the middle with several chairs surrounding it. There was also a green fern in the corner. “Wait here,” she said. “I’m going to get my medical kit.”

I took Root out and laid him on the kitchen table. Deborah came back with a sewing kit and some paper napkins and placed them next to Root.

“Katie, would you care to assist?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, Doctor.” Katie promptly took her position in front of the sewing kit.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

“Unfortunately no. You’re emotionally attached to the patient. All you can do now is hope for the best.” Deborah remained cool and professional under pressure. “Nurse – sewing needle.” Katie provided a needle from the kit. Deborah grabbed it. “Thread.”

Deborah threaded the needle.

“Wipe.”

Katie took a napkin and wiped Deborah’s forehead. Deborah took a deep breath and grabbed the left leg with the same hand that had the needle and started putting some of the stuffing back in.

Satisfied with the leg, she did the same for the corresponding hole in Root. She then placed the leg over the hole and began to sew them together. She had a Zen-like focus as she manipulated the needle through Root’s thick skin. I watched on as he just laid there. He bore the pain with a silent stoicism that I couldn’t help but respect.

When she was done with the first leg, she turned to Katie. “Scissors.”

“Yes Doctor.” Katie provided the safety scissors.

Deborah repeated the process for the other leg. Being a teddy bear, Root was able to take a lot more than I would have been able to. Still, I found the scene to be grisly.

“Listen, if you two want to wait in the living room, I can take it from here. Don’t you worry.” Deborah was employing her bedside manner, probably as much for our sakes as for Root’s.

“Come on Robbie,” Katie said. I followed her into the living room and we sat on the couch. “Everything will be all right. Root’s in capable hands.”

“I hope so. She seems very good.”

“Root is covered under health insurance, right?”

“Well, it’s free here in Canada so it’s not a problem.”

“Oh yeah. Right.”

Deborah came out of the kitchen. She looked tired. “I’ve done all I can do for him. He’s going to feel pretty stuffed for awhile.”

“Will he be all right? Will he be able to walk again?”

Deborah placed her hand on my shoulder. “Only time will tell. All we can do now is – Wait! Could he walk before?”

“As far as I know. That’s not the point, though.”

“I guess not.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“You can try. He’s asleep though. At least I think he is. I’d know better if he had eyes.”

I nodded and went into the kitchen to see him. Except for the stitches around the legs, Root looked as good as new. He just lay there, sleeping. I smiled. I always appreciated that he didn’t snore.

“Those are some pretty cool threads you got on there,” I told him.

Deborah came up behind me.

“Now normally, I’d want to keep him here for observation but from what I can tell, you’ll probably take care of him better than I can.”

“Thank you,” I answered. “Do I owe you anything for your trouble?”

“I’ve got this whole ton of Girl Guide cookies to sell. If you know anyone who’d buy some, that’d be great.”

 ”I’ll talk to my parents. If he ever needs medical attention again?”

“Consider it done. You seem decent enough. I’d be happy to see Root again…” She paused. “Not that I want him to get hurt again or anything. You should probably keep him away from your dog.”

“Then they’ll never learn to get along. Thanks anyways.” I picked Root up carefully and tossed him in the plastic bag. “I’ll see you at school.”

Katie said her farewells and we left and walked back to our respective houses.

When I got home, I went up to mom. “Hey mom,” I said. Guess what? Root lost his legs and you weren’t home but it was all right because I took him over to Deborah’s house. She goes to my school. She’s a doctor and she fixed him right up.” I took out Root and showed her.

“That’s very resourceful of you, Robbie.” She smiled. “Sounds like you’re growing up.”

I smiled and went off to my room.

From the hill it was nothing but a deep, black smudge, like God dragged a thick piece of charcoal across the land. The city was still coughing up clouds of oily smoke and, if she looked closely, she could see points of red flame beckoning for her to return.

She felt a hand press the small of her back. Her husband looked down at her sternly.

“Keep your eyes forward.”

Many accusations, appeals, persuasions rose up in Abilene’s smoke-scarred throat. Painfully, she swallowed her words. They would do no good.

Her daughters, with faces pinched from weariness and lips dry from thirst, walked alongside her. Their sandals had kicked up so much of the dusty red soil that the bottom halves of their once fine blue and green robes were saturated in it. Just yesterday that fact would have irritated Abilene to no end but after last night, after the angels, clean clothes migth never matter again.

***

There were two of them. They looked like men. Beautiful men, but something was unsettling about them. Their skin was flawless and beardless as a young child’s. Their wavy hair had that gleaming vibrancy as if the sun shone upon them day and night. Their robes appeared untouched, with no wrinkle, or fray, or speck of dust. Everything about them looked too perfect, too new. Yes, that was the problem. They did not need wings to stand out.

Lot met them at the city gate and had asked them to stay the night. They had insisted the streets were fine but not even angels could abate the man’s stubbornness. Abilene had no say in it but she didn’t really mind. The angels fascinated her.

***

Abilene looked at Lot and wondered for just a brief moment if he had other reasons for asking the angels to stay, reasons that had nothing to do with charity and everything to do with greed and lust. She pushed that thought as far back as possible. She would never know and did not want to think about it.

As they ascended another hill, the gentle morning sun began to give way to noon. She could feel sweat trickling down her spine, beneath her robes. The sound of their feet was all she had heard for a long time. She was quite certain the animals of the plains were not being shy but that humans were not the only ones that had met their death that morning by flame. And, the silence made it all the easier for Abilene to pick up the sound of shuffling from a few yards behind them.  Her heart beat faster, as she listened to the rhythm of the steps and resisted the urge to turn around. After a few minutes of this she was certain it belonged to a human. What if it’s someone I know?

Abilene fell a couple paces behind her husband and turned her head just enough for a quick glance. A hot breeze danced along the ground, scattering dry soil and playing with the robes of a small, dark traveller.

“Abilene!” cried Lot. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and spun her around. “You know they said not to turn around. Are you stupid?”

Her heart beat roughly against her chest. “I saw someone.”

Lot tilted his head to one side and listened. “There is no one there. We need to keep moving.”

Abilene’s daughters kept their heads down and followed their father. Briefly, she felt a twinge of jealousy. They would follow you to Hell, Lot. Even after you offered them up to something worse than death.

***

Abilene had made a large dinner that night and invited her daughters and their husbands over. It was intended to be a celebration and sign of good will but it ended up being a grave affair. The angels would touch nothing but water or wine and spoke as little as possible. Her sons-in-law tried to quiz the angels about heaven and the afterlife but were not blessed with even a look from the mysterious creatures. The atmosphere in the house was far from cheerful, and when Abilene could respectfully excuse herself to wash the dishes with her daughters, she did so. They had barely started when the sound of fists pounding on the door began.

“Bring them out! Bring your guests out!”

The cries came from many voices, rough from carousing and drinking. Abilene, her family, and their guests remained quiet as Lot barred the door with its wood plank. The pounding grew harder and the door shook on its hinges.

The screamed demands became a chant in time with the beating of the door. The thunk of an axe began and the angels stood up.

“Open your door,” the angels said.

Lot was about to protest when the plank of wood slid out from its metal hooks. The door flew open.

The mob spilled in, filling the room with the sour smell of liquor and unwashed bodies. Abilene and her family slowly inched to the back of the room and watch with surprise as the men drew quiet, their lustful eyes busy caressing the angels. The angels did not seem bothered by this but instead seemed to be studying the men with a cold curiosity.

One man, pick axe in hand, peeled his eyes away and spoke. “Lot Hiranson. How rude it is to not share your guests with the rest of us.”

“My guests are no business of yours or anyone else, Mikloth.”

“Well, there are more of us who want to know them than you and yours so we demand it.”

Mikloth and his men made for the angels. Lot stepped in the way, his eyes wide and face ashen.

“No!” He looked around the room frantically before resting on his daughters that were hidden behind their husbands. “Have my daughters instead.”

Abilene let out a small scream of surprise and rage. Lot looked at his wife with defiance in his eyes. Their husbands had already ushered the young girls toward the stairs and claimed makeshift weapons for protection. Abilene spotted a large knife and took it in hand. She kept her eyes on Lot.

***

She heard the footsteps again. Defiantly, she stopped all together and spun around. The figure was closer this time. It appeared thin and short, like a woman. It smiled, and waved to her and she knew who it was.

“It’s Serah, my sister! She made it!”

Lot cursed loudly. Pinching the base of his nose, he spoke slowly, “Abilene, you have had too much sun. You are seeing things that are not there.”

Abilene glowered at Lot and her quiet, docile daughters. “She is real, she is right there! Why will you not look?”

“The angels said no man, animal, or plant in this sinful valley would survive. We are the only ones and we are not to look back!”

Abilene screamed, “How can a plant be sinful? Or a child, or my family?”

“Mother,” said her eldest daughter and placed a hand hesitantly on her arm.

Lot’s face turned red with anger. “You or I do not have the right to judge the actions of God.”

“Please, let us leave this place, I can’t stand it,” begged her youngest daughter, eyes rimmed red. Abilene could not stand to see such pain.

She squeezed both her daughters’ hands and continued, but her ears still followed the footsteps behind her.

***

When the men said they would not accept her daughters in replacement of the angels, Abilene felt a relief so intense that she fell to her knees.

“If not your guests, then we will have you, Lot,” said Mikloth, a slow smile spreading on his wide mouth.

Lot choked on the words that rose in his throat.

“Enough.” The room shook with that one word. The room grew silent, all eyes on the angels.

They still looked the same, perfect and untouched, cold and expressionless. But, at that moment, something about them terrified Abilene more than anything she had ever experienced or witnessed in her life. It did not feel like the fear a gazelle stares at the teeth of the leopard. It was a deeper fear she could feel in her soul. There would be no escape, no forgiveness, and no peace after death. There would only be eternal suffering.

Abilene heard a muffled whimper. She turned in time to see the men, eyes hollowed, cheeks streaked with tears, weapons hanging from slackened hands, shuffle out. She knew, without really knowing why, that they would go home, kiss their families goodbye and sit and wait.

“For what?” She asked and realized, with surprise, she was addressing the angels.

“The end of sin,” they both answered.

They turned to Lot. “By morning the cities of the plain and all life within it will burn,” said one of the angels. “Take your family and head for the mountains. Do not look back.”

***

But how could they not? Abilene had begged Lot to let her go and get her mother and sister.

“We have time!” She had cried as he tossed food in a sack and, for the first time in their long marriage, he had struck her.

She pressed a hand on her still swollen cheek and let the pain feed her anger.

Shock and fear had kept her silent as Lot pulled his daughters away from their husbands. He called them sinners but Abilene knew better. Lot was not from Sodom as she and their sons-in-law were. She understood why the boys would remain. How could they simply allow something to destroy their homes, their livelihoods, and their families? Her sons would do what they could to appease God’s fury or, if they failed, salvage what they could.

But she did not.

Abilene felt a wave of sickness as guilt reached its cold hand into her stomach and squeezed mercilessly. She gasped loudly and choked as she tried to hold back her tears.

There was a sharp crack behind her and, her heart rising, she turned around.

Two dark figures small and slouched and hazy from the ripples of heat along the sand, trudged up the hill toward them. One she still recoqnized as Serah and the other…

“Mother,” Abilene whispered. She could tell her family had stopped walking, as well but paid them no mind.

“Abilene,” Lot said. “If you do not turn around immediately we are leaving you here.”

Abilene said nothing.

“Then you’re no better than the rest of them.”

“Mother…,” whispered one of her girls.

“It’s okay,” Abilene said simply.

She could hear the sound of their feet scraping rock and sand ascending higher and higher into the mountains, further from their place of sin.

Abilene waited, tears thick with salt running down her sun-darkened cheeks, limbs grown stiff. She waited.

Jay scratches his stubbly chin with one finger, “Oh, I thought we were going to watch a movie…” He watches me, waiting for an explanation.

“I thought that we could have more fun then that.” I slide off the edge of the bed, and glide towards him. Throwing my arms around his neck, I kiss his cheek hard enough to leave a red lipstick outline.

“I am a little tired tonight. I thought that we could do something not so…not so…uhmmm” My hands are already down Jay’s pants.

“Yes, you’re right. We should do something less…physical.” I slide my hands out of his pants, toying with him.

Yanking his red Volcom shirt over his head, I catch a glimpse of his tattoo. A colt .45 on his hip as if it was in a holster. Just the sight of it excites me now. I pull Jay towards the bed, and drag him into the middle of the duvet.

He just watches me, silently. I don’t have to undo the button and fly on his jeans; they are so loose I can pull them off. Tossing his white socks on the floor, the only thing left covering him are his boxers. I playfully loop my fingers under the waistband, kiss the skin below his belly button, and he shivers. This is one of his spots. I pull off his boxers, and with a dramatic swing toss them on top of the other discarded clothes.

The heat rises off his body, and comforts me. I need to be close. I have to be close. Rolling down my lacy underwear I slide on top of him.

I tighten my legs around his hips, and wrap my arms around his chest. Almost close enough. I can feel his pulse inside of me.

Rolling over, a bead of sweat drops from Jay’s nose and rolls down my cheek. His eyes are focused on something past me. A red hue creeps up and over his cheekbones.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL!” Jay leaps up stiffly. He is towering over me as I lie on the bed. He looks down at my face, and then back to the sheets. The red has disappeared, and so has his erection. His wide eyes leap back to my face.

“That is fucking gross! God!” He steps heavily off the bed with his hands tucked in his armpits. I can’t see what’s wrong until he is closer to the open door. There is blood all over his crotch. I jump up and find there is also a dark spot on the duvet. It was supposed to start next week.

I search my bag for a pad, and roll up the duvet to put it in the wash. I find the blood has also soaked through to the sheets. I strip the whole bed and put everything in the washer. I can hear Jay turn the shower on, so I didn’t start the machine. I wait for fifteen minutes outside of the washroom until he shuts the water off.

“Jay, I’m sorry. Can I come in? I want to talk to you, I’m really sorry…I didn’t…”

“No, I don’t really want to talk right now…”

“Please, Jay, it was an accident. It wasn’t supposed to be this week…”

“But it was. Aren’t you supposed to know about that kind of stuff!” Jay slams a cabinet door shut.

“Sometimes it happens at weird times, it just kind of happens…”

“Go away, okay, just go. You wanted sex so bad tonight, and you go and do that. God! Just go.”

“Jay, please, it wasn’t my fault…” Jay’s electric razor roars to life on the other side of the bathroom door.

Two weeks later I slowly do up the Velcro on my leather gloves, and watch as Jay presses the ignition on the bike. It starts with a sputtered grumble, and settles into a constant hum. I tighten the chin strap on my helmet; the padding tight to my face. I check the zipper and snaps on my jacket, and slowly walk to the bike. The white Suzuki logo sits across the back of Jay’s blue jacket. His helmet is glossy black with a tinted visor. Nobody can see his eyes. Stopping on the left side of the bike, Jay doesn’t look over at me. I carefully climb onto the rear seat, making sure not to bump him. The weight of the bike shifts, but he just keeps looking forward. I search for the passenger pegs with my feet. Great, he didn’t even flip them down. Reaching down to flip them out by hand, I glimpse Jay’s visor watching me through the rear view mirror. Settling my feet on the foot pegs, I grab the back handle behind me. I used to hold Jay around his chest, but a week ago he told me to hold the back handle instead. He said that by holding his chest he couldn’t manoeuvre the bike around turns as easily. I push the visor down on my helmet, and Jay shifts the bike into gear.

The branches and trunks of trees blur into two distinct lines of brown and green. The whole forest looks like a two-minute marker drawing by a preschool kid. Over Jay’s left shoulder, the yellow median line marches alongside us. We are on our way to Seattle for a track race day. Jay does this every year, including the past two years I have been with him, with his riding buddies. The first year he told me it was an ‘opportunity to improve their riding skills’, but I think it is really just an ‘opportunity’ for the boys to brag about their toys. This year he didn’t want to ride down with the rest of the group. He wanted to take this route instead, because it had more ‘peaceful scenery’. All I see are a bunch of trees, and rocks, and squirrels. Now the ocean would be ‘peaceful scenery’, not a forest infested with bears, and cougars, and other things with teeth. An ocean sunset, that’s perfect ‘peaceful scenery’.

Jay didn’t want me to go with him, but he thought that the guys would bug him so much as to where I was that taking me would be the lesser of two evils. I didn’t want to go, but I wanted to make it up to him, so I did. With the other guys around, I think Jay will be pressured into at least hugging me. Ever since that night Jay has hardly looked at me, never mind touched me. Whenever I would reach for his hand, it felt like a vicious electric current protected it. I haven’t touched his skin for two weeks.

A mountainous mirror lake materializes on our left. Small fishing boats slowly paddle around the edges. Large logs litter the shallow waters, sometimes breaking the surface with splintered branches. I can smell the water, very cool with a hint of skunk cabbage. I can just make out the large yellow flowers of those plants beginning to bloom on the far marshy shore. I want to point out to Jay all of the ‘peaceful scenery’ he is missing, but he rigidly keeps his head facing forward. I didn’t dare tap his helmet, or yell over the wind to him.

About half an hour from the lake we come across a large truck stop. It has a huge gravel lot with six semi trucks parked in it, eight gas pumps, and a deep fried diner. One of these trucks has a custom paint job of an engorged crimson heart being stabbed by a jewelled dagger on the side. Without warning, Jay quickly pulls into the station. I am thrown off balance, and shift the bike. Jay whips his head towards me, but I can only feel the hatred from his eyes. He pulls up to a pump, and plants his feet on the ground. I slide slowly off the bike, my legs cramping above the knee, and watch Jay. Without taking his helmet off, he unhooks the gas nozzle and starts filling up the bike.

“Hey, I’m going inside to use the bathroom.” There is no response. So I repeat what I said louder. He just stiffens and looks towards me. I wait for an answer, but he keeps on pumping the gas. I take one last glance at him, in hopes of some kind of response, but none comes. I walk towards the diner’s doors, undoing my chin strap.

Pushing the glass doors open, I pull the helmet off of my head. I know my hair has turned into a wind tangled lions mane. Shit, I don’t even have a brush with me. As the bell on the door announces my entrance the entire crowd at the diner, fifteen male truckers, all stop eating to stare. It’s like I’m the first woman that they have seen for a millennium. I look towards the serving counter, the person behind it wears a red and white striped dress but other than that she doesn’t resemble a woman. I swallow hard, and try equally hard to hide it. They say that animals can smell fear. I hold my helmet tight to my chest, and walk up to the server behind the counter.

“Hi, is there a washroom here that I could use?”

“Hi there, sweetcakes, of course there’s a washroom you can use. It’s nice an’ clean, don’t get much use by this crowd.” The person in the dress slides a key, tied to a huge steel spoon, across the counter to me.

“The washroom is to your left, right down past all those tables, and then when you come to the condom machine turn to your right…no, to your left and down the hall…and there’s the women’s bathroom. Just remember to bring the key back out with you, it’s the only one we got.” The person in the dress smiles, and murmurs ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’ under her breath. I smile and thank her.

Turing towards the bathroom, I notice that Jay is still outside doing something with the bike. He still hasn’t taken his helmet off, and has made no sign he is going to come into the diner. I walk past all of the truckers enjoying the dinner special of the evening: Sloppy Joes with a side of wedge fries and mayonnaise. I don’t look any of them in the eye, but I can feel their eyes drinking in my back. As soon as I pass all of the tables, my chest releases. The silver box on the wall catches my attention. Three little knobs with colourful advertising stickers adorn the front panel. The first said ‘Studded for his and her pleasure’, the second one said ‘Assorted colors and flavours’, and the third one said ‘Heat sensation’. Ideas and memories race through my mind. I long for the familiar feel of latex, but the thought almost seems absurd at the moment. I blink hard three times, and move towards the washroom.

I push the gaudy pink door open with my elbow, and a synthetic lilac scent races out to greet me. Wow, clean was right. There was a new roll of toilet paper in the dispenser, and no puddles of water around the sink. I put my helmet down on the counter, and enter the sparkling pink stall.

The soap container is full of flowery liquid, which foams instantly upon dispensation. I examine my face in the mirror, and attempt to take the wild out of my hair. The mascara on my eyes has started to run a little from the moisture build-up in the helmet during the ride. Satisfied with the little I could do to tame my look, I leave the brightly lit bathroom.

Three of the truckers are waiting for me as I round the corner to the hallway. They block the whole walkway, and are just outside of the view of the server. I freeze in mid step, all of the blood pools in my chest. I can’t inhale, it feels like everything is too full inside of me.

“Hello, hello, there pretty Miss dolly.” The first trucker wheezes through a yellowing beard.

“Jack, don’t be so rude. You’re going to scare the poor little girl.” The second one, with some kind of logoed mesh hat on, turns to his friend.

“Both of you stop. She is right here, don’t talk like she isn’t. Sorry, Miss, for the rudeness of these two guys. But we wanted to offer to buy you a coffee, or a meal, or a dessert, or whatever you want. We wanted to show you the hospitality of Tonnashee.”

The third guy, who is very skinny and wears a ripped Metallica t-shirt, throws a mock elbow at his two companions. The two take a step back. Everything in me releases, and the air finally finds a way in. I ease my grip on the helmet, and look at the skinny one’s face. He has a small smile, with no teeth showing, and his eyes are surrounded by long lashes. My tongue sticks to the top of my mouth as I open it.

“Well, that’s very kind of you. I am expecting my boyfriend to come in any minute now.”

“Is he that guy out there with the bike?” The bearded one questions.

“Yes, why?” I ask.

“Well, he’s just sitting on the bike out there in the parking lot,” The one with the hat says. “It don’t look like he’s coming in anytime soon. He’s been sitting out there for a good ten minutes now.” He glances down at his watch.

“Please, won’t you just have a coffee or a tea with us then?” The skinny one asks.

A warm wave rises over my cheeks. I can feel that my pale complexion now has a rosy blush. A sheepish smile evolves on my face from all of the male attention. I scratch the lobe of my right ear.

He raises his eyebrows towards me. “Coffee will only be five more minutes.” He smiles, and his crooked teeth show this time. A coffee will only take five minutes to drink. I agree to one quick cup of coffee.

I am half way through my cup, and entwined in a conversation with the truckers, when the entrance bell squeals as the door to the diner is ripped open. I almost drop the coffee in my lap as Jay, with his helmet still on and his visor still down, storms into the diner. I jump up and try to head him off, but he already has the skinny guy by the shirt collar. The guy chokes on his mouthful of coffee, and stands up to face Jay. He is a good six inches taller than my boyfriend.

“What the hell are you doing! That girl is with me.” Jay points at me as he yells through his helmet. He tightens his grip on the guy, but the guy manages to back away a step and then pushes Jay square in the chest with both hands. Jay falls backwards, and drags the guy down with him. I race over to sort out the tangle of limbs, but Jay manages to hit the guy in the face before I reach them. The skinny guy jumps up with a bleeding nose. The drops splatter across Jay and the tile floor. With a swift kick from his steel toed riding boots, Jay brings the guy down grabbing his crotch. I gasp, Jay grabs my arm and twists it. All I can do is look at Jay’s hand wrapped around my arm. He pulls me out of the door and shoves me towards the bike. I quickly turn, and see that the guy is still curled on the floor bleeding. Jay gives me a harder shove to keep me moving, and two muffled words are expelled from his helmet, ‘fucking whore’.

We are now travelling down a freeway close to Seattle. Once in a while, you can see the forest or a field when the moon comes out from behind the clouds. We haven’t seen any other vehicles for an hour. Jay hasn’t said a word either. I just watch the grey and murky trunks of trees slide by. All of the color seems to have vacated the world.

I can feel a deep bass note rumbling through my chest. There must be a freight train in the fields somewhere. I would like to travel by train someday. Everyone in the movies travels by train, it looks so sophisticated. The vibrations grow stronger, and I start scanning the fields for the train’s triple headlights. I can only see a depth that goes from navy blue to black. The rumbling keeps get closer and stronger. I scan the other side of the road for any signs of a train. Nothing on that side either. I glance at the back of Jay’s helmet for any sign that he feels it too. No, nothing, he stiffly faces forward. Now I can feel the direction it’s coming from. It’s right behind us. I can’t risk looking back because that will shift the weight of the bike. I want to ask Jay if he feels it too, but I know he will just be mad if I bother him. I really want to tap on his helmet too see if he knows what the rumbling is. I lift my hand from the handle, and hold my pointer finger over the back of his helmet. I’ll just ask him, it might be important; I’ll just tap his helmet and ask. Just as I tap his helmet, a set of high beams from behind flash on and blind us. The light grows in intensity as it reflects off of the mirrors. Jay swerves the bike, and I catch a glimpse of a chrome grill. The hot breath of the truck covers us, and the sound of an overworked engine deafens me. The truck must be two feet away from us. Suddenly, the truck driver switches lanes and roars past us with a belching drone of the horn. A blurred painted crimson heart rushes past, and the silhouette of the driver, with an extended middle finger, leans towards us. The turbulence causes the bike to shutter and shift positions. Jay snaps the bike straight, gears up, squares his shoulders, and races towards the truck, which is now only a set of twin red taillights ahead of us.

Besides the red lights of the truck, I catch a glimpse of two little red lights off to the right. It must be a farm house in the distance. Jay keeps increasing speed. The two little lights slowly grow bigger, and before I can warn Jay about them they are in the road. The brown body containing the eyes takes shape in our headlights; long legs, pointed ears, a head with a tall set of antlers. Jay doesn’t even have time to apply the brakes. The brown body slides up the windshield of the bike, and then gets sucked under the front tire. The headlights are smashed and the dark engulfs us. I can feel Jay’s body lift from the bike, I hang onto the rear handle. The bike leans to the left, and I roll with it as it hits the road. My helmet rasps like sandpaper as it drags along the asphalt. When the bike finally crunches to a stop, I lie on the road. I can breathe. I carefully dislodge myself from the metal frame. Something cut through my pants, and warm fluid runs down my calf. I push up the scratched visor of my helmet, kneel in the road, and search for any sign of Jay.

“Jay!… Jay!… Where are you? Are you okay? Jay!… Jay?” I yell into the sound consuming darkness. There is no reply, and I can’t hear any kind of movement. Not even a breath. I crawl in the direction that I think he is in. The road and the rough gravel bite through my shredded gloves. Shuffling my hands over the ground they slide on something wet. I stop, and search by feel. I find a chunk of something soft. It feels like it has hair. I drop it upon this realization, and frantically move forward.

“Jay! God, Jay! Where are you! Where are you! Please, Jay, please!” Next my hands come down on what feels like material, wet material. I pick it up, and flip it over. The white letters S-U-Z dimly show through the blackness. I sit heavily, and stare at the material in my hand. I put my left hand out to balance myself; bumping against a large object, I drop the piece of fabric. The tears finally break. I explore the object with the only sense I have, touch. I can feel a chunk of fur, and then manmade material, and then fur again. An antler, and then a riding boot, and then some more fur. Everything is wet. Soaked. I keep searching, until I find what I am looking for. The helmet. It is coated in wetness. My hands slide off of it, and find more of him. There is fur on him, and even more wetness. I try to find Jay, just Jay, out of the mess. It is impossible. I wrap my arms around what is left. Holding him as close as I can, I let the wetness soak into to me.

I was very young when I lost my boyish innocence.  She had betrayed me, someone I considered a close friend of mine.  Never before had I been so shocked, that she would throw away months of friendship like that!  An entire lifetime of memories and laughter just tossed away in one senseless act.  Katie McFadden had stolen my teddy  bear.

This meant war, and if I had my way, things were going to get pretty grizzly, but I needed my sister’s help.  I approached her while she was watching TV.  It was my intention to take full advantage of the window of opportunity provided by this commercial break.  I knew timing would be crucial in forming this alliance and knew interrupting ‘Gilligan’s Island’ at a tense moment would lack the diplomacy and finesse required to turn my sister, Margaret, to my point of view.

“Mar,” I addressed her.  Mar, or Marmar was the nickname I used for her sometimes.  She called me ‘Bud’. “Katie stole Root.”

Margaret gasped.  “Root’s been kidnapped?”

“NO, only kids get kidnapped.  Root isn’t a kid.  He‘s an adult and you can‘t kidnap adults.  It‘s against the law.” Naturally.

“Right, I’m sorry.”

Her sarcasm was entirely lost on me.  With the commercial break was nearly over, it was time to play my cards.  I looked my sister square in the eyes and said, “Marmar, I need to borrow your dolls to form an elite group of commandos to go deep into enemy territory in a covert search and rescue operation from which some of them may not survive.  Some of them may end up needing a stuffing transfusion, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

My sister sighed.  “This is why Mom doesn’t let you watch TV, you know.”

“Well, what will it be?” I asked.

“No.”

“What if they volunteer?”

“No,” she said more firmly.

“Not even M.C. Hamster?”

Margaret looked at me.  “No.   Now go away.”

There was a firmness in her statement that led me to believe that choosing a plan B would be prudent.  I wished I had listened to my parents when they suggested that I diversify my own stuffed animal collection, but alas, I was a cocky, callow youth once.  I never thought I would be forced to grow up so quickly, so tragically.

In either case, a change in tactics was in order.  I went to my bedroom, my fortress of solitude and bat cave rolled into one, to think.  Questions like ‘Where did I go wrong?’ and ‘What would ‘Inspector Gadget’ do?’ swam through my head.  After some deliberation, I realized that I didn’t have an answer to the first question, and that the answers I could come up with to my second question were, let’s face it, less than helpful.

Later, after much consideration, planning, and cookie eating, I decided to take legal action.  I went to my closet and grabbed a ratty yellow bathrobe because it looked like Dick Tracy’s trench coat. I then grabbed a pair of sunglasses and one of my dad’s hats from his bedroom.  I was now a fully and competently qualified private detective whose particular area of jurisdiction was Katie’s house.  I headed outside.

It was raining outside.  It was a hard rain, the kind of rain that could dent a windshield.  Fortunately, I was wearing my hat.

I walked down the street with grim determination.  I was going to see a dame.  She was the kind of gal that could get a bloke to do her homework with just a wink.  We were pals, once.  Then yesterday, I found her on the wrong side of the law when Jimmy the snitch tipped me to her sordid involvement in the disappearance of one Root the Bear, an associate of mine.  The resulting pain shot through me like a bullet through Jell-O.

When I arrived at her house, the rain was easing up and the clouds were parting, but I knew the real storm was about begin.  I rang her doorbell and heard it echo through her house.  I suddenly found myself face to face with Mrs. McFadden, aka Katie’s Mom.

Mrs. McFadden wore a smile that belied the shame she must of felt at raising such a decadent child.

“Hey there, Sugar.  I’m looking for Katie the dame.  You seen her around?”  I chewed on a toothpick trying to act tough, to hide the fact that worries and doubts were swimming through my mind like flies in soup.

“Hello Robert.  She’s just in the tub right now.  Do you want to come in?”  Mrs. McFadden said warmly.

I accepted Mrs. McFadden’s invitation and stepped in.

“You’re all wet.  You should dress better when it rains out, you know.”

“I wore a hat.”

She walked into the kitchen.  “I was just making some Jell-O for Katie.  Would you like some?”

“Yes please.  I was just thinking about Jell-O on the way here.”  I sat down at the kitchen table and pretended to be interested in the newspapers.   Interest rates were down, apparently.  “Do you have those tiny little marshmallows to put in it?”

Mrs. McFadden shook her head apologetically.

Katie suddenly appeared at the doorway, her hair still wet and tangled from the bath.  “Hello Robbie,”  She paused.  “Why are you wearing a wet bathrobe?” I had been distracted by the lure of Jell-O, forgetting that I was a super-detective.

“I’m the one asking questions here, missy,” I came back at her with a fierce determination.  “I’ve got news for you.  Jimmy snitched, he squealed, he sang like a bird.  He told me about… what’s that smell?  It smells unfamiliar.”

“Soap,” she answered.

“Oh,” was all I could muster.  The aroma wafted through the air like an early morning mist.

“What’s this about, Robbie?”  Katie asked.  Her mother seemed to find our interaction more entertaining than disturbing.

She was right where I wanted her.  “Give it up, woman.  I know you got Root the Bear stashed away somewhere.  Where is he?”

Katie looked away.  “I didn’t take him.  But I do know where he is.”

I scoffed.  “Then where is he?  This is where you sing, Sugar.”

Katie sat down.  Her face was so intense that it would have made Rambo shudder.  “Yeah, I saw what happened.  Jimmy figures you owe him money.    He wanted to send you a message.  He found Root and took him.  He pounded the bear’s stomach for a bit and just stuffed Root into his back pack.  It was horrible.”

“He’d do that over a quarter?  Why didn’t he just take credit for it and ask for ransom?”  I asked.

“Word is he got scared, figured that you’d come down on him, hard.”

I pondered for awhile.  Her story made sense.  A lot of sense.  “Thank you for your time, Ms. McFadden.  You have been very helpful.”

I left after I finished my Jell-O, and went home.  After returning the hat, bathrobe, and sunglasses to their proper spots, I retrieved a quarter from my piggy bank and told my parents I was going over to Jimmy’s.  They told me to make sure I was back by dinner and that I should wear a rain jacket this time in case it started raining again.

I arrived at Jimmy’s front door and knocked three times.  Jimmy’s brother, Stephen answered the door.  “Hello?” He looked at me inquisitively.

“Hi Stevie.  Is Jimmy there?” I asked.

“JIMMY.  ROBBIE IS HERE.”  Stephen yelled.  He went back to the television. Jimmy came down the stairs quickly.

“Hi Robbie.”  Jimmy greeted me as Stephen wondered.

“You took my bear.  You owe me”

Jimmy frowned.  “Mom says that if someone says hello to you, you should say hello back.”

I looked at him.  I was annoyed that he was deflecting the issue.  “Hello.  Katie said you took my…”

“Alright, alright already,” he interrupted.  “You can have him back.  He’s boring anyways.”  I made a mental note to congratulate Root for such a brilliant tactic, acting boring to make Jimmy not want to keep him around.  We made the exchange without incident.  I walked Root home.  I had heard that whenever a person goes through something hard or traumatic, it’s good to open up.  I didn’t want Root to open up again though, because the last time I got him to open up, my Mom had to sew him back together.  We simply picked up our relationship where we left off.

The next day, Root and I were having our dinner together.  I asked him if he wanted a Pepsi, but he just stared at me.  I finished my meal and grabbed Root by the hand.  “Let’s go, Root Bear, we’re going to have a sleepover with Jimmy and Katie.”  Root and I grabbed our things, left the house, and sauntered off into the brightly coloured sunset.

Harry frantically dialed the numbers on his cell-phone like a baby mashing buttons on a toy, all the while swerving about the road like an escaped convict who’d just acquired a vehicle.  His veins were pulsing, his eyes frantically smashing themselves into the sides of his temples looking for reasons as to why it happened.  Luckily for Harry, none of the usual beer-gutted traffic cops had taken the time to wake up and pull him over for doing 80 in a 50 zone.

Work waited, regardless of the morning’s horror.  It would always wait for him, like some looming gateway to hell.  He was sick of it all, and he had begun taking it out on himself around a year ago after a massive mental breakdown.  After all, he was 52 and still an office grunt with a deadbeat wife and absolutely no chance of a future.

The ambulance had been called by the time he got to work.  He couldn’t even remember what he had barked at the operator; something about an address and a shit-load of blood.  Even the feeling of his own tongue writhing about uncomfortably in his mouth made him want to vomit as he walked briskly to his office at Burgin-Hitchings Accounting.

The secretary was always a cheeky bitch to Harry, but this time she went too far.  As Harry walked in, he saw her tight red sweater and perfectly cut black hair loom from behind a cushy desk.  She just smiled with a wry satanic grin, and said:

“Running late darling?”

Harry faked a smile as though she was funny, which she responded to by sticking her tongue out.  He nearly puked on the spot, and her eyes became like coals.  He continued to hurry to his office, all the while holding down his vomit.

At his desk, he sat and wondered if they’d found his wife yet, or if they were treating her at all.  He cared somewhat that she was alive, but the old hag had dominated his life for so long, that he wasn’t sure if he truly cared anymore.  All he could stare at was the pin that held the picture of him and his wife Marsha to the billboard of his office.  The pin ran straight into her mouth.