Inanimate (3 page)

CHAPTER 2

The school bus closed in on Connors house,
slowing to a stop in front of a policeman who waved them past. The
kids on the bus flocked to the right hand side to try and get a
glimpse of what was going on. Yellow tape stretched between two
trees on either side of the garden blocked off the scene to
pedestrians, while police cars blocked the road to all but single
lane traffic. The bus driver drove past the house, looking for
somewhere to stop safely. Connor didn’t know what to think. He just
stared at the police officer waving him through, hoping his facial
expression would offer a clue to what was happening in his house.
The buildup of neighborhood traffic forced the driver to stop a
full block away from Connor’s house. The boy got up and walked
briskly to the door but the driver stopped him before he could
leave.

“
Hey son?
”

Connor
turned around.

“
I’m sorry
!”

He
knew what the yellow tape almost always
meant, even if Connor didn’t. The boy looked at him for a second,
reading the man’s sympathetic expression and then turned and ran
back to his house.

A common theory was that those who were
gifted with brains were usually not gifted with athletic ability.
Well today, nobody expressed this theory to Connor. He ran as fast
as he could towards his house, not slowing even to turn corners. He
ran so hard he felt sick but he didn’t stop. Even at a young age he
knew something was wrong. Approaching the yellow tape guarded by a
policeman he still did not slow down. His backpack, arched above
him as he sprinted, did not affect his speed as he went to duck
under the tape and across the garden. As he flew under the “Do Not
Cross” warning he misjudged the height of his backpack and it tore
straight through the police line. A young cop smoking on the lawn
spotted Connor as he ran through the line. Grabbing the boy by the
backpack caused him to come to a shuddering halt.

“
Hold on son! Don’t go in
there!”

Connor wriggled
the backpack off his
shoulders, narrowly avoiding the cop’s grab at him as he ran into
his house. Although there was little noise outside it felt
extremely chaotic. Between the flashing lights, localized gridlock
and a tense police presence, the neighborhood transformed itself
from a quiet place to grow up into something which more resembled a
prison. Just as he entered his house he locked the door behind him.
Facing the white wooden door he tried hard to settle his breathing.
Something in the air had changed, there was something so different
in the mood of the house and he felt it straight away. He turned
around to face the hallway, but something stopped him cold. What he
saw that day would change his life forever.

A bright flash of light dazzled Connor,
much the same as it did earlier this morning. But this time,
instead of seeing his mom smiling at him when his sight returned,
he was met with a much more horrifying sight. Martha Williams lay
on the ground, covered from the neck down by a white sheet. Face
down she lay; her body twisted so her dead eyes pierced Connors.
Frozen in place Connor stared at his mother, only a few hours dead,
her skin still retained its color, but her eyes had lost all life.
Unable to look away, Connor’s brain tried to make sense of this
dreadful thing. This was not his mother; not anymore. Instead, this
shell watched him through big glassy windows, burning itself into
his consciousness forever. Emotions bubbled up inside the boy. A
perfect broth of anger, confusion and sadness spewed out all at
once, melting into an earth stopping cry. Up until this point
no-one had seen Connor enter the house except the policeman who was
now banging on the door trying to get in. Not even the crime scene
photographer who was snapping mug shots of Martha noticed him
standing only a few feet away. The shrill, piercing cry of a
distraught boy announced his presence to everyone. Connor’s father
was sitting with a policeman when he heard the sound and ran to his
son’s aide. Hastily the photographer covered up the body, but it
was way too late for Connor. With his eyes closed tight the boy
wailed until his lungs were out of air, he then reloaded and wailed
again. Throwing his arms around his son, Andy Williams tried his
hardest to calm him down. Burying Connor’s head in his chest he
embraced him closely and together they wept. Andy already knew what
Connor yet didn’t, that this day marked the end of Connor’s
childhood.

CHAPTER 3

Poor grades came as
standard
with
Connor now, as did a lack of enthusiasm and general
unresponsiveness towards his schoolwork. The real shame in Connor’s
poor performance was that there was nothing to compare it to. Since
he just started grade 1 when his mother was killed he never had a
chance to excel. If it had happened a couple of years later, there
may have been an obvious change from A’s to D’s. But it never
happened that way. In fact, all his teachers knew about him was
that he always got bad grades. He never tried; was never willing to
apply any effort and was not interested in socializing with other
children. A tragic case; every teacher knew about his past; they
knew what he and his father had been through so they tried to give
him a little extra help wherever they could. The problem was always
that Connor wasn’t stupid; he just didn’t see the point in trying.
He wasn’t angry or rude to his teachers so really there was very
little action to be taken against him. He simply responded to
questions with his patented “I don’t know Miss” or “Sir” depending
on what grade he was in. Usually after the first couple of verbal
battles with a teacher (with Connor’s answer always unflinching)
they would give up and ask someone else. All Connor really wanted
to do was go fishing with his father. Today was Friday, and that
meant Saturday was only one more day away and the two of them were
going fishing.

It had been over three years since the
death of his mother but Connor had not forgotten her face staring
right through him.

“
The
re was an accident” he remembered his
father telling him.

“
Your mother t
ripped and fell down the stairs,
she was already gone when I found her. She’s in heaven
now.”

The vast landscape of Millbrook
Valley
was a
favorite of his to come and fish with his father. The air was warm;
the valley was alive with life. Birds, insects, rabbits, squirrels
and deer all inhabited this territory. Standing knee deep in the
shallow, slow moving part of the river Connor enjoyed the feeling
of the cold water surrounding his waders. All around him the spring
grass blew softly in the wind. Connor used this land to project his
thoughts out in front of him, like an artist used a pallet for his
creations. He tried to understand why his mother had to die. He
missed her so much. His father unscrewed the lid from a hip flask
and took a big swig of Kentucky’s then called to his
son.

“
Any bites yet
buddy?”

“
Not yet dad
.”

If truth be told, Connor didn’t care about
the actual act of fishing. He enjoyed the time he and his father
had together and the peace of the valley. Catching a fish was just
a bonus.

Another swig of the
bourbon
:

“
K
eep at it son. Remember, we eat what we
catch.”

“
I know dad.”

Connor returned to his thoughts, the
quiet helping him to come to terms with his loss.

The light from the refrigerator
illuminat
ed
Andy’s soft yet ageing features.

“
You want a
cola?”

“
Yes please
,” answered Connor while taking
off his waders by the front door.

Andy, on the other hand didn’t
stop to take anything off he just went straight for the beer in the
fridge. While Connor had his peaceful fishing to take his mind off
his
mother’s
passing, Andy found solace in alcohol. Although he was careful
never to let Connor see him too drunk or too out of hand, when he
was not at work you would seldom see him without a drink in his
hand. Connor never thought much of it. He was eight now and his dad
was his hero. Andy remained strong for his son through the tragedy;
if drinking helped him remain strong then Connor saw no problem in
it. He had heard the warnings in school and on the television that
alcohol was bad for your health but he took no notice, instead
choosing to believe his father knew best.

Connor strip
ped down to his underpants and
carried his fishing gear to the laundry basket in the kitchen. He
threw his waders out the back door onto the concrete beside the
grass. Andy watched the boy, so careful not to dirty the house.
With his beer in hand he looked down at himself, still dressed as
if he was leaving to go fishing again. His eyes drifted back to his
son. The judging look from the youngster was enough to evoke a
response.

“
Ok, ok I’ll get
changed; I wasn’t
going to sit on the couch like this anyways. God, you’re worse than
your mother!”

Andy chuckled
and playfully
punched Connor in the stomach.

“
Ok, go shower and come watch the
game with me
.”

“
I don’t want to watch the game
dad.”
Connor
said smiling.

His father
wanted him to be a sports fan so
bad.

“
Still not a football fan eh, now
I know you’re your mother.”

Connor look
ed at the floor. After fishing
was when he thought about his mother the most. Had she still been
alive she would have been waiting for them with dinner at the
ready. Whenever he entered the house now there were no aromas, no
scents for him to get excited over.

“
I miss her
, dad.”

Andy put
down his beer and looked at his son
thoughtfully.

“
I know Connor, I know. I do
too
.”

After a moment Andy
sp
oke
again

“
Well go on up to your room then,
I’ll call you down
for dinner in a bit.”

Andy picked up his beer and
took
a big
drink.

“
Well dummy, who gave you
tickets to the circus?”

“
Well dummy, I believe I was
invited here! Who gave you tickets to the circus?”

“
Who
are you calling dummy?
Dummy!”

“
There’s only one dummy here. And
it
ain’t
me!”

A fight br
oke out. Two small ventriloquist
dummies attacked each other, butting heads and flailing arms,
clicking as their wooden limbs collided.

“
Myaaa break it up you
dummies!”

The two small dummies
fe
ll to the
floor and a larger one stepped in beside them.

“
I invited you both remember? We
have to take down that clown! He’s getting too big for his boots
around here. C
ome on. He’s about to start”

In the middle of the big top,
thousands of spectators cheer
ed for the bear announcer. The surly brown bear
held the microphone well.

“
Ladies and Gentleman, thank you
all for coming to the Williams
family circus!”

The crowd
cheer
ed
emphatically.

“
Now, the act you’ve
been dying to see;
please put your hands together for Basket the Clown!”

The crowd went
wild, cheering as
the clown entered the arena, back flipping and somersaulting his
way to the podium. He held his chin up high as he looked at the
audience who waited for his performance with baited
breath.

“
And now…
” Announced Bear…

“…
Basket will attempt his greatest
feat ever for your own personal pleasure. He will be raised high
into the air on this swing; he will then jump off, flipping five
times in midair and land safely… All without a harness!”

The crowd hushed in unison, awestruck at
the thought of this incredible feat. A swing was lowered into the
middle of the big top and Basket gave a bow. He hoisted himself on
as it raised into the air. The crowd held their breath as they
stared at the clown swinging from side to side, higher and higher
on the swing.

“
Oh my god he’s going to
die!”
yelled
a crowd member as she swooned on top of the man sitting in front of
her.

Basket
continue
d
swinging until he was almost at the peak of the big top itself and
then let go... Cries rang out all over the arena as Bear counted
the summersaults.

“
One!”

Basket
was still rising from his jump until
the second turn.

“
Two!”

He started
falling rapidly to the ground,
turning all the while.

“
Three!”

“
Four!”