Remember how I said, way back when I started this, that I felt the whole story went off the rails and then I gave up? Sure you do, if you don’t it’s in writing. Here is where the wheels really began to wobble. See, I like Old Man Jenkins. I like him as a serial killer of sorts. However, I like him not as a serial killer of sorts. When I wrote this I wasn’t ready to make a decision, he kept being loveable and creepy. So I extended the story by adding new characters, in fact here are two now, a police officer and a reporter…see where this is going? Good, cuz I hope to get there. Enjoy. 🙂
“Awesome game Banks,” Officer Coughlin said as he walked past Chloe Banks standing at the bar.
“Thanks,” Detective Chloe Banks said over her shoulder, “Bobby another round for the team.”
Already celebrating their victory over division rivals, the bar erupted in cheers.
Running his hands over his unshaven face, he wondered what he had done this time. Standing outside the editor’s office, Jacob ran a hand through his thinning hair and straightened out his suit jacket. He tried to put on his best smile, but the best he could muster was his “not so downtrodden” expression.
“Shut the door!” Editor in Chief Ramsey yelled.
Jacob shut the door and sat down with a thud in front of Ramsey’s desk. Even though Jacob barely respected his boss, he always admired how clean and organized the man’s desk and office was. Jacob’s desk was a mess from top to bottom.
Ramsey held Jacob’s latest story between his thumb and index finger waving it in Jacob’s direction, “Do you read what you write before you send it to me or do you write it 15 minutes before deadline and hope that nobody notices?”
Parking in front of their garage, Jax checked the clock on dashboard. He looked over at Jetta who was looking back at him.
“One hell of a night,” he said, putting the car in park.
Later, lying in bed, Jetta rolled onto her side to face Jax finishing another book on crossbreeding roses, “What do you think about having Mandy over for dinner this weekend?”
He turned the page, put his finger between the pages, and set the book on his lap before responding. “Sounds like a great idea to me. We could use the grill.”
“I’ll call her and see if she has the time. How is the book?”
“This might be the ticket,” Jax said holding the book up, “I’m taking plenty of notes.”
A stack of Post-It-Notes sat on the nightstand. Jetta loved his note taking, she found some of his notes stuck to walls, clothing, or in other random places all of the time. Each time he responded the same way, “I had an idea.”
Rolling over she said, “Don’t stay up too late.”
Jenkins checked the kitchen clock, eleven fifty-nine flashed twice before noon flashed. Anytime now, Jenkins thought. Barbossa hopped onto the kitchen table.
“Meow,” she said sniffing around the table, doing her best to not look interested in the plate with two strips of bacon.
“Go ahead,” Jenkins said.
Barbossa sniffed the plate, snatched a piece of bacon, and hopped to the floor with her prize. Barbossa stopped eating, ears up. Jenkins looked outside, a Mayer’s delivery truck pulled into the driveway at that moment.
“Your ears are much better than mine,” he said, tossing the last piece of bacon to her.
Half an hour later Jenkins threw open the doors to the tornado shelter. The deliverymen had been nice enough to bring the boxes to the tornado shelter. Carrying the first box, he descended into the shelter, the musty odor overpowering. Jenkins set the box down and fumbled for the string to turn on the light. With a tug, the light illuminated the shelter, dirt walls and floor with vines sticking out of the walls here and there. Lots of potential and work, Jenkins thought as he headed up the steps to get the rest of the boxes.
“Meow. Meow,” Barbossa said rubbing up against Jenkins leg.
He looked down at Barbossa, “Go play.”
“Meow. Meow,” Barbossa said with a tone Jenkins recognized as hunger.
At that thought, Jenkins’ stomach rumbled loudly. Odd, how long had he been working, he thought as he looked to the tornado shelter entrance and saw night sky. He looked around the shelter; boxes and packing material lay in a pile in the center of the room. A wooden table and pegboard were against the back wall. A variety of hammers, saws, and other tools hung from hooks in the pegboard. Several blue storage tubs sat in the corner next to the table. Next to the tubs a large wooden frame stood. Where Jenkins stood, pieces for a larger table lay in a pile. On top of the pile were two table legs attached to the tabletop. Time flies, Jenkins thought.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Barbossa, “I did not realize how long I had been working. Let’s get some food.”