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Living after Midnight, A detective story, by George Clarkson (Pen name thingy for story)
(A quick note, this is a sort of present to the RPF for letting me stay with the community as long as I have, and let me reach 10k posts. You guys/Gals rock!)
Brian ran across the dimly lit streets of Boston. He wasn't supposed to be out, for it was curfew, which began at 10:00 PM. It was 10:50 PM. Yet he felt like he had a reasonable excuse, as he just ran out of the store to get milk and eggs for his troubled mother, who lived with Alzheimer’s.
His shoes quietly tapped along the hard cobblestone pavement, but he was careful not to drop his cargo. He squinted, faintly seeing in sight his apartment building. He sighed in relief when a traversing policeman ran into him.
“What are you doing here, kid? It’s curfew, don’t you know?” He asked questionably. Brian looked at him, seeing his riot gear and badge, answered in murmurs.
“P… P-lease, I was only getting groceries…. I-I was shopping for a long tim-e…” He answered, quivering in fear he could get arrested. Being arrested was the last thing he wanted to happen to himself. The policeman looked at him, slightly doubting his answer. But an answer was an answer, and he let him pass to his apartment building. Brian thanked him off as he jogged lightly, the grocery bag swaying around. Reaching his apartment, Brian took out his rectangular key, and inserted it, twisting it and opening the door. He hurried up the linoleum stairs, and into apartment 3B. He took out his other key, an ovalish key, and did the same with the previous door, and walked inside.
The smell of ginger and molasses hit him in the face as he opened the door, and took his coat off and put it on the mahogany table. He put the carton of milk and eggs in the refrigerator, and took off his tan shoes off, and proceeded to yell into the empty air: “Ma! I’m home!” He called out, the voice travelling like cars on a freeway. He heard no reply, so he yelled the same question. No answer. Brian was getting worried, since his mother had Alzheimer’s, and she would be frequently found in random and unusual places. He remembered the time when he went to the market with his mother, and when she said she needed to use the bathroom, Brian never found her at the market. Rather, she was found at the docks, feeding bread to fish there. His mind immediately returned to the present, as he darted around the corner which would lead him to his mother’s bedroom.
Busting down the door, Brian found nothing in his mother’s bedroom. He looked all over his house, overturning couches, tables, anything that could be hiding a person. Nothing. A tear rolled down his eye as he took out his phone. Please, oh please, don’t be gone, he said to himself as he dialed 911.
Moments later, Brian found the Police in his apartment, led by a smart, thinly dressed man named Lieutenant Jonathon. He had blue, crisp eyes and golden hair that was ear’s length, and a dapper appearance. He began firing round after rounds of questions, Brian of course knowing nothing of what happened. He told his story, his only story, was that he was in the grocery store, and came home to find his mother gone. The Lieutenant glanced at him, while the two were sitting at the table. 2 other men were searching the residence for clues, but found nothing. Nothing, Nothing, Nothing! It seemed as though the answer would almost be nothing! The lieutenant said that Brian would be in temporary custody until any trace of his mother would be found. It was possible he could wind up in an orphanage.
Brian looked around in the rather stuffy police car. He knew the inspectors would be grooming his house for any trace of his mother. It would be alright, he told himself, his mother probably wandered off somewhere random. He looked forward to warm cookies and milk as the car passed by the station. He noticed it began to rain just as he stepped outside, into the cold, crisp weather Boston usually offered, He was ushered into the doors as the rain began getting harder and harder. He worried more and more that his mother wouldn’t be found. He soon found himself walking over the marine blue patterned carpet, and into a leisure room, where he found a maroon, plushy velvet couch, and flat-screen television, and a table with cookies, brownies, some sandwiches, and other foodstuff. He strolled over to the table, where he took a plate, and piled on a rye bread sandwich, with pork, barbeque sauce, and cheese.
Aange combination, it may seem to you, but it smelled charming. He also took some star shaped cookies, with vanilla frosting and orange, crystallized sprinkles. Brian also took a can of Patriot Paul’s Cream Soda, as he returned to the couch to enjoy his meal. He had never seen so many provisions on his plate, for him and his mother just barely got by with the money they had. He first took a bite of the Rye bread sandwich, his mouth soon filled with tastes and hints of Parmesan cheese, the tangy, spicy barbeque sauce, and the extraordinary taste of the bread. He smiled in delight as he took more and more bites of the wonderful sandwich.
Finished with his delightful main meal, he took a bite of the two star shaped cookies, soon with the feelings and the taste of the sandwich left his taste buds, and the sweet, crunchy feel of the cookie entered his mouth. Then he felt the hint of the orange arrive on the tip of his tongue. The cookies tasted as good as the sandwich, maybe even better. Brian savored the taste, almost forgetting that he was in the police station for a reason.
His last part of the meal, Patriot Paul’s Cream Soda, was left. Brian loved the taste of the brand, and he and his mother treated it as a treasure to have it on certain days. Now, there were multiple sodas on the snack table. He snapped the tab, allowing the soda to furiously fizz for a moment, and then it soon settled. He picked it up, and drank it, when he felt the taste of the cookies float away and the rich cream of the soda down his throat. Never had he had a good meal in a long time. Having at least downed a good three fourths of the can, Brian soon closed his eyes, and let the rain dripping and dropping soothe him to sleep, the Lieutenant peacefully watching him drift away into the void of sleep.
The wails of the siren were heard throughout Boston that night. Brian was sitting in the ambulance, at his mother’s side. The ambulance swerved around various corners until it got to Boston National Hospital. He was crying, he remembered that his mother was doing dishes when she just suddenly slumped to the floor. Brian knew the signs immediately, and it was confirmed: His mother had problems. Sometimes she would be wandering around; sometimes she’d forget what she was doing. Brian dismissed this until that night.
The ambulance arrived at the hospital, and his mother was immediately rushed into the Emergency Room. Brian remembered waiting anxiously, waiting to see if she was okay. The doctors came out with grave news; she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. They said she would be getting doses of medicine once a month, to try a new drug that supposedly grows back the brain cells. Brian also remembered him saying he would be coming home alone to school, since she would be in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) for a few weeks. But he wasn’t prohibited or barred in any way from visiting her. Then, the memory faded as Brian heard the crackling of bacon.
Brian woke up to the smell of crispy bacon, eggs, and toast sitting on the snake table, where the food from last night vanished. An officer sat next to him.
“‘Morning, sleepy head. How do you feel?” He asked politely. He was wearing a formal suit and a beige tie. Brian could only respond groggily.
“Okay… I guess. Thank you for the refreshments, Mister.”
“I am sadly a bearer of bad tidings. Our team couldn't find any evidence of your mother’s disappearance.”
Then, in a sudden, embrace, the officer hugged him.
“You can take some breakfast home, and some of the refreshments from last night home. They’re on the table, over there.” The officer pointed. Brian nodded, and proceeded to get out of a cozy blanket. He took some gingersnap cookies, some sandwiches, some bacon, and some flapjacks, and put them in a plastic bag. He then carried everything out of the police station, and towards home.
But as he was walking home, he kept thinking of a thought. “No. She’s out there somewhere. And I’m going to find her.” He said as he was walking towards his apartment building. He walked to the entrance, and went up the stairs, and got the key for apartment 3B, and opened the door to his home. He gathered his backpack, and gathered all of what he deemed essential to what could be a massive countrywide search, which included his music player, loaded with all of his mother’s favorite songs, some food, and his phone, along with some food and books, into his neon orange hiking backpack. He then found a piece of lined paper on his balsa wood desk, and found a fountain pen, wrote:
“Dear principal Timothy,
I will be gone for a few days. My mother is gone, my only treasure, and thus I will conduct a search to find her. I am sorry to say I value my mother more than my education, but she is my only family. I know you’ll probably excuse this, but please take this into consideration. When I get back, if I find her or not, I will do as much school work you want me to do, and I will be a part of your summer school program.
-Yours truly, Brian Ralmer, your (beloved) student”
He stuffed the crude note in his pocket, gathered his coat, and his shoes, and made sure all of his chores were done. He then took the two keys he needed, the one to the apartment building, and the one to his own, set out to the bus stop.
Brian passed by his school, and stealthily sneaked towards the window of his principal’s, opened it and slid the note in, then ran out of his school grounds.
He walked towards the bus stop pole, where he strangely found no one there. He tapped his foot lightly, and waited for the bus to come. It finally came, 10,000 times of tapping his feet and 20 minutes of waiting came to the bus. He gradually climbed aboard, and paid the bus driver, (Who was a woman), and sat in an empty seat, staring at the window. He then suddenly remembered where his father lived: Cambridge, a town awhile from Boston. Did she have a secret affair with her husband before/after the accident? He thought to himself as his eyes slipped away to sleep.
Brian awoke to the sound of the bus driver telling him to wake up as he had arrived at his destination, which was Cambrige. His stomach felt horrible, and he needed to eat something. However, before he could do this, he found himself out of the bus and onto a sidewalk, near an intersection that led to various houses and businessesses, similar to how Boston was set up. He started walking across the street, then towards the never ending line of houses and shops, passing by “Briana’s Brownies” and “Harold’s Haircuts”. It was rather bright out, whereas Boston was usually cold and unwarming. A change from all of the cold weather, he said to himself as he sat down on a bench. He needed to eat, so he fished out of his backpack to find a Ruben sandwich (A ruben is a pumpernickel sandwich with pork and sauerkraut, and horseradish sauce), a can of Patriot Paul’s Jungle Lime Soda, and Farmer Brown’s snacker chips. He first snapped open the soda, letting it fizz, before putting it next to him. He unwrapped the sandwich from its plastic wrap, and began to eat. Soon, his stomach was alleviated with the tastes of zesty horseradish, the sweet taste of the pork,(It had been sweetened) and the aridity of the almost charred pumpernickle.
After he had gobbled down the sandwich, he took a sip of the lime soda. A sense of yellows and greens entered his mouth, after taking a swig. He relished in delight the taste of the drink, and set it down to taste Farmer Brown’s Snacker chips. They were sea salt flavor, and tasted strong and salty, as advertised on the front of the package. He rolled the small plasticine bag that held them into his pocket, and threw away the can of the lime beverage into a nearby trash basket. He sat up, stretched, and began to walk nonchantly in the direction of his father’s house.
Arriving at the one story house he remembered from childhood, Brian began walking up the creaky, old redwood steps as he walked towards the entrance of his father’s home. He also noted the “FOR SALE” sign he remembered from the accident his mother put up. He opened the door, but as he opened it, it suddenly fell down, making a loud “CRASH” noise as Brian quietly treaded into the house. He walked inside, to find everything frozen in time. There was moss growing on the walls, and dust was everywhere, waiting to be awoken from what looks like years of resting. The pinewood dinner table he remembered from years ago was still there, as many other items and objects. He slowly crept around the house, but nothing seemed of interest when he suddenly heard a loud banging bellow him. Could it be a clue? He wondered to himself as he found the entrance to the basement, a bunch of creaky, ancient stairs waiting to be stepped over. Brian carefully walked down the stairs, until he found a door to a basement.
He opened the door, and found a lot of packages and cardboard boxes sitting around. Was something going on? He inspected one such box, but found it had dust all over it and a small snake inside. His eyes dashed around the hardly notable basement, when he saw a figure tied up in a chair. He rushed over to find someone, who still looked alive, kicking the chair. Brian quickly found a piece of broken glass, and used it to cut the ropes holding the person. But in the process, he cut himself. He recoiled in pain as he held his arm up and held in a scream. He then, after cutting the bonds of the person, took off the bag. You could never possibly imagine the immense amount of embracement and love was shown at that moment. Brian finally found his mother. The two kissed and hugged, exchanging “I love you” and tears. The two ran up the stairs, happily chatting away.
It turns out that Brian’s mother, who was named Edna, was tied up because she was rummaging through past memorabilia in her husband’s house to make her feel better, when she heard a robber outside. She tried to lock all the doors, and to make it seem someone else had her hostage, she tired herself up, and the robber left. She didn’t remember whether the robber actually came in, or if it were even a robber at all. They even enjoyed all Brian had in his backpack.
George looked down upon the grave, tears streaming out of his eyes. He read the tombstone, which was newly placed, and fresh. He took out his story, and placed it on his mother’s grave. His mother had just died of cancer. Slowly, he walked away from the graveyard, and out of the cemetery. George was heartbroken by the whole incident, so he wrote a story as his mother lay dying.
A year later, the gravestone looked rugged and timeworn, and the pages of the notebook were torn and moldy. Slowly, the wind blew, and opened the pages, revealing a worn, but worthwhile story, beginning with:
“Brian ran across the dimly lit streets of Boston …”
The end
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