Originally posted by Classy:
[qb] Lawd I know this ain't gon be finished before my plane leaves [img]/forums/images/graemlins/mad.gif[/img] [/qb]
That's what I was thinking too, Classy. Hey Nunya, I leave Thursday am. Do you think we will know who the attic dweller is by then, or do I have to join Classy at the internet cafe?
He was a child. Of 10 - 12 years, they'd surmise. He was so thin and waiflike. Irma's heart wrenched as she noted how sharply his collar bones and shoulder blades stuck out. His little arms! She had seen twigs that were thicker! His belly protruded over ratty khaki pants that were several sizes too short. His bare feet were flat and hard.
Her eyes returned to his face and found that he had been staring at her in turn. His eyes were so white - all his energy, his life-force, seemed to be trapped therein. She noted the gauntness of his face, a face that should have been rounded with youth... His hair was thick, knotty, matted and coloured grey with dirt.
She had the overwhelming urge to grab him, a bar of soap and her coarsest washrag and scour him until he gleamed. Then she'd feed him. She wanted to sit and watch him eat.
Irma didn't realize tears had slipped from her eyes until he said, "Yuh too bawly bawly."
She blinked rapidly. Pauline asked him, "So wha yuh name? An wha yuh a do up here?"
He turned his penetrating stare to her and one could see his guard go up.
"Yuh nuh supposed to deh yah, y'know," Micheal said. "If dem ketch yuh..."
The boy's eyes shifted to Micheal and his look was derisive. "Yuh a go try infawm pan man." His statement was flat.
Micheal's mouth twisted. No Jamaican man like to be termed an informer. "Watch yuh mout bwoy."
"Wha yuh name," Irma asked again, gently. The boy said instead, "A dat gimmie whe eno," and pointed to a makeshift bed. It was two construction blocks and a slab of board. "Everytime mi try fi sleep mi fall off."
"But why yuh sleeping up here?" The inevitable question came. "Whe yuh parents?"
He shrugged his bony shoulders and turned away. "Whe oonuu a do up yah?" was his retort.
Irma sighed and gingerly approached him. "Look, de man who own-"
And the transformation that came over the child's face cut her short. His little face and body was suddenly so animated as to be spastic. His eyes gleamed with hate and his mouth was twisted in a cruel line that should have been alien to a child.
A spew of invectives flew from his lips. Pauline and Irma glanced at each other. Micheal chuckled, "I guess dis is not a fan of de big man."
"Yuh know Mr. Jones?" Pauline queried. The child glanced quickly at her and replied, "Mi neva si yuh before."
"Yuh cyaa stay up here," Irma restated firmly. "Yuh haffi come down wid wi!"
"NO!" the child screamed. "Mi nah come dung! Mi a tan up yah till mi get whe mi want!"
"So whe yuh want?" They asked in unison.
"Mi want dat Mr. b___ c____ Jones fi dead!"
**************
At Rocky's place, Winston sat back, put his legs up on the ottoman and forced himself to relax. He was on his fourth glass of whiskey and though it warmed his belly just right, it was not dulling the fear that permeated his mind.
"There is no need to be fretting up yuhself man," Rocky chided. "Whe dat a go do? We have everyting unda control. Maybe yuh need smaddy fi tek yuh mind offa things."
Irma floated before Jones' eyes. "Mi can call up a few if yuh want," Rocky continued. "Have a pawty - a bedroom pawty!" his smile invited Mr. Jones to join in, but Jonesie wasn't up to it. He wasn't in the mood for an orgy. He had had it more times than he could count and the sameness bored him. All he wanted was Irma. Funny, he hadn't even thought of Irma in that way until a week before when Rocky had put the idea to him. Now he couldn't get it out of his mind.
He wondered how it would go over if he was to drive by her place. Why did he have to wait until 'next time' anyway? The flush on his face was not only as a result of the alcohol. The tingling in his pants wasn't either.
"Yuh right," he said to Rocky, standing up. "No use mi fretting. Everything's unda control. So I'm going to jus head home. Mi wi call yuh in the mawning."
Winston Jones stumbled up to Irma's door. He knocked quietly and while he waited, he straigtened his shirt and smoothed his hair. He blew his breath into his cupped hand and his eyes rolled over. Maybe he should go back to the car for a mint? He knocked again, this time louder, harder. His head was starting to feel foggy. ____! Of all the time for the ____ whiskey to be taking effect.
"Heerma!" he sang out. "Heerma luv, lemme in. I wan talk wichyuh."
He banged on the door some more. "Heeermaaaaa! Why yuh dween m'likedat? I jus wan talk wichyuh! I jus wan tell yuheverytinggoingbearight!"
He turned and rested his back against the door and breathed in the remembered scent of her. "I tink I luv yuh y'know Hyma. I jus wan hol yuhlikklebit. mmmmmmmm" he hugged himself.
The lights from the apartment next door came on and a head poked out of an already opened window. "Maasa gwan a yuh yaad an stap ack like eediat! People have tings fi do tomarra y'know!"
Mr. Jones tried to straighten and turned to glare in the direction of the voice. Shoot, which one of the dancing windows was it coming from?
"Yuh know who I am?" he slurred.
"Now mi look like mi give a ___?! If yuh nuh move I gwine dash a bucket a p___ pan yuh!"
"Ol neaga," he muttered under his breath. "De whole a oonuu a ol neaga! Excep my Heerma!" he shouted as he headed back to his car. "Ongle my sweet Heeerma."
On opening the door to the car, he had a thought: if he couldn't have Irma in person, he could at least relive the memories by means of the photographs.
Yuh hungry? Irma asked gently. Mi sure dere's someting in the fridge down so y'know...
The child nodded slowly, hesitantly. His manner was that of a kicked dog, who expected that the offer of a treat was just a cruel joke, but who couldn't help but hope anyway.
Yuh gwine haffi come wid wi den, Pauline said.
NO! the child was adamant. Angry. He knew it. They were just lying too. His eyes teared and he quickly reached behind him to the bucket. Before they could blink he was brandishing a large piece of rusted metal that both his hands could hardly manage.
Oonuu cumout! he snarled. Before mi bus up oonuu ____ ____!
Irma jumped back and Micheal jumped forward, wrenching the metal from the child's hands. The suddeness of the movement shocked the child into immobility which allowed Pauline to rush forward and hold his arms.
Stop it! she cried. Stop trying fi act like yuh so tough!
Come offa mi! he shook his arms angrily. No touch me!
We nah go hurt yuh y'know! We just waa help you.
He shook out of Pauline's arms and ran straight into Irma's. Her arms encircled him involuntarily as she looked askance at the others. Pauline shrugged and Micheal said, Mi a go go down go si whe eena de fridge. Mi soon come back.
Irma rocked the child for a moment as they stood there, his face pressed into her waist. Is aright, she kept murmuring over and over, Is aright.
Yuh want wait til yuh eat before wi talk? Irma asked gently.
His reply was muffled. At least tell wi yuh name?
Devon.
Devon, yuh want sit down?
His head shook 'no' and his hold tightened around Irma's waist. Pauline sighed. She was at a complete loss as to what to make of the situation. Who was this child? And as she looked around the subattic, Why was he living here?
Suddenly Devon's hands began to fumble. And with a rapid movement, he dragged the envelope from Irma's waist band. Irma gasped in shock and the child's eyes gleamed.
Gimmie dat back! Irma snapped reaching. Devon turned to run but Pauline grabbed him. He flailed and in so doing let the envelope slip. It skittered across the floor and Irma threw her body ontop of it, if only to cover any spillage.
She laid there, shaking and gasping. Before scrambling up and ensuring that the contents of the envelope was safe. She turned furious eyes to Devon.
Whe yuh a try fi do?
He returned her look beligerantly. She stared hard at him, while he struggled within Pauline's grasp. Suddenly he was like a rag doll, his energy depleted. Pauline let him go gingerly, prepared for any surprises.
Irma's eyes narrowed. She was not going to be caught off guard again.
Mi sorry, he said, head bowed.
Yuh betta be! Irma snapped. Then quieted. He was just a child for goodness sake's. That was probably how he had been living for who knew how long now: snatching whatever he could, whereever he could.
Sit down, Irma directed firmly. The child acquiesed. She sighed and decided to try again though not expecting a response.
Why yuh up here? An wha yuh mean by yuh waa kill Mr. Jones?
Him kill mi sista, the child muttered his voice thick with emotion. A him mek mi sista dead.
Irma and Pauline's eyes widened in shock. Whe yuh mean 'him kill yuh sista'?
Before he could respond they could hear clattering on the pipe, Micheal was returning.
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