Cage

Word Count: 3056


Jade, the self-proclaimed love child of Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin, made a habit of looking up uncommon words in the dictionary and using them in everyday conversation.

“Mother, your unpalatable plethora of breakfast oddities is a culinary disgrace,” said Jade from across the kitchen table.

“What, you don’t like my cranberry omelet casserole?”

“You mean this is only one dish? I mistook it for several poorly made ones.”

“Listen, young lady, don’t you use that language with me. Would you like to make your own breakfast from now on?”

“Seriously, mom. I can’t eat this. It’s made of eggs and who knows what else, and it’s probably against my religion, too.”

“You’re not still into Kabbalah, are you? I promise it’s kosher.”

Jade shook her head.

“Hindu?” her mother asked.

“No. Wiccan-Buddhist.”

“Oh, that’s right. The wicker thing. Now finish your breakfast, and don't cast spells on anyone at school today. We don’t want another trip to the principal’s office, so just remember your Karma.”

“My Karma’s fine. Bye!” said Jade on her way to the front door.

“Hold it right there!” her mother snapped.

“What?”

“Let me see your wrists.”

“Mom, stop being so authoritarian. I don’t cut myself,” said Jade, putting both hands up as though she was under arrest.

“It’s not your skin I’m worried about,” said her mother. “It’s everyone else’s. Take those damn bracelets off. You’re liable to hurt somebody.”

“Mom, the points are dull!”

“Take them off, Julie Christine.”

“That’s not my name anymore!” said Jade, slamming the door behind her.


Jade was one of several fourteen year-old girls in the small town of Gainsfield, Texas classified as “misunderstood” by the general public. The word was thrown around frequently wherever she went, but on the surface Jade never seemed affected by it. Jade also thought that the word “emo” was incorrectly used to describe her personality and outlook of the world despite its popularity at school. She was neither emotionally confused nor unstable, but her parents felt she was suffering from an identity crisis due to low self-esteem.

When Jade was in eighth grade, she told her career counselor that in her past life, she had been on a mission to save the world from moral corruption as a Japanese priestess named Jade but was punished because she didn’t finish the job. The story was another of Jade’s smart-ass responses aimed towards authority figures, but she liked the name of her imaginary priestess so much that she decided to keep it. Bullshit questions like “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” deserved equally bullshit answers. The counselor’s verdict: theologian or district attorney.

Gainsfield was a town famous for its fig trees, weekly community activities, and the friendly competition between the Methodist and Baptist churches, but it was mostly known for taxidermy. Its ornithological museum held the largest number of stuffed exotic birds in the south and gained popularity when the exhibit was featured in several Texas travel magazines. Last year, Jade went on a field trip to the museum with her biology class. The sight of stuffed peacocks, flamingos, and swans made her faint, and when she was conscious, she felt that something had to be done.

The day after the museum trip, she protested outside of the building with cardboard signs that read “Stop the Oppression. Let’s Start an Insurrection.” After several people asked if she was protesting the war in Iraq, Jade made new signs that said “Guns Start Wars. Keep Our Birds Outdoors.” The museum director told Jade that all of the birds were donated by a wealthy game hunter who stopped hunting birds thirty years ago, but she was still convinced that society was poisoned by the thrill of the hunt.

While walking to school, Jade stopped momentarily. The bracelet incident at breakfast made Jade forget to bring her lunch, and now she was wondering what to eat. If she went back home, she would miss most of first period. This would give Jade her third tardy slip this month, just enough to award her a three-hour detention.

‘Cafeteria food sucks, and not many fast food places cater to vegetarians,’ she thought.

“Hey, you got some extra food?” said a voice.

Jade turned around and saw a man in tattered clothing following her along the sidewalk.

“No, sorry,” she said and quickened her pace.

“Aw, c’mon. Just a pop-tart or something!” he called from behind.

“Weirdo,” Jane mumbled to herself.

Before she made it to the next intersection on her street, she felt her chemistry book slipping further from her arm’s grasp, and it fell with a thud on the ground.

“Dammit!” Jade said, bending down to get it.

As her hand neared the book, another hand grabbed it before she did and picked it up.

“Hey!” she said, and then her heart stopped. It was the man who had begged for food.

“Are you gonna try to make a deal? My book for some food? I told you I don’t have any,” said Jade.

“No, I was just going to give it to you,” said the man, holding the book out to her.

“Oh. Well, thanks,” she said, taking it.

“Where you goin?” he asked.

“Work. I’m a neuroscientist.”

“Really?” said the man. “Looks like you’re in a hurry.”

Jade started walking at a relatively fast pace.

About a minute later, the steady metronome of her footsteps was interrupted by the sound of another pair of shoes walking behind her. Jade quickened her pace even more until a flash of white came out in front of her. Jade let out a scream and fell to the ground, books and school supplies escaping her arms and tumbling down the sidewalk.

The mourning dove flew off, leaving a mess of white poop on her chemistry book.

Jade picked herself up off the ground.

“Here ya go,” called out a familiar voice.

Jade turned and snatched the book from the man in tattered shirt.

“Thanks. Now stop following me!” she said irritably.

“Who says I’m following you? I was just on my way to my three-story house.”

“Liar,” said Jade.

“It’s true,” he said.

“Sure, and I bet your name’s Arnold Friend. Why don’t you stalk some bimbo on the next street? I’m already late for class.”

“I thought you said you were some kind of a scientist. And my name ain’t Arnold.”

Jade wished now more than any other time that her mother had given her that phone she wanted for Christmas. She could just dial three digits and this guy would be toast.

“You’ve never read Joyce Carol Oates?” asked Jade, daring not to look at his face.

“Nope. My name’s Clive Rellick, but I go by the name Cage,” said the man, walking at an even pace behind Jade.

‘That’s probably where you belong,’ thought Jade.

Jade stopped where she was and turned around to face the man. He was in his late-twenties or possibly early-thirties, with tangled blond hair that was so filthy it could easily pass for brown at a safe distance. He wore a beige jacket that was ripped on the left side, and his jeans bore holes of all sizes and shapes. His eyes were hazel, and his skin was the color and texture of cowboy leather due to overexposure to sunlight.

“Listen, just leave me the hell alone, you degenerate, or I’m screaming bloody murder right here in the neighborhood,” said Jade.

Cage grinned. “I ain’t a degeneral, I’m a colonel. That’s how I can afford to pay for my house.”

Jade was about to turn and run again, but her eyes caught the writing on his T-shirt.

“Hey, you like the Doors?” Jade asked.

“Yeah, they’re my favorite band of all time,” said Cage.

“What’s your favorite song?”

“Light my Fire,” he said.

“Everybody says that,” said Jade, smiling. “Who else do you like?”

“A little of everything. Joplin, Nirvana, Hendrix, Dylan—”

“I love Bob Dylan too!” said Jade.

She noticed a stray pencil lying on the ground and suddenly remembered where she was going.

“I have to go,” she said. “I’m really late.”

“Hey, what’s up with you and birds?” asked Cage. “You got scared shitless from a little mourning dove. You got a phobia?”

“No. It just surprised me,” said Jade.

Cage made a face that said his bullshit detector was going off.

“Fine, you win,” said Jade. “When I was five, I saw that Alfred Hitchcock movie, and it totally scarred me for life.”

“You mean The Birds?” asked Cage.

“No, Psycho. Remember that scene where Marion is having lunch with Norman in that creepy room with all the stuffed birds? Freaked me out really bad.”

“Wow. You didn’t get scared when you saw the shower scene?” he asked.

“No, not really. Probably because it was in black and white, and the blood was gray, not red. If it was in color, the scene probably would’ve had a different effect on me.”

“You’re a weird kid, you know that?”

Jade felt her face get warm.

“You’re not that normal yourself,” she replied.

Jade turned and walked back towards the direction of the school. She thought that the man’s attitude was pleasant, but there was something that didn’t quite add up.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Nunya,” Jade replied. “It’s Chinese.”

“That’s funny because you look like you used to be a natural blond. I ain’t never heard of a natural blond Asian girl,” said Cage.

“How can you tell it was dyed?” she asked.

“Your roots are showing.”

“It was actually light brown before I dyed it black. Black suits me better,” said Jade.

“Because you’re such a badass, right? You know, black makes you look sexier,” said Cage.

Jade turned around and gave him a smirk. She glanced to his left and looked curiously at something. Jade’s eyes grew wide, and a look of pure horror came to her face.

“What?” asked Cage.

Jade took two small steps back, as though the rest of the ground was lava.

“There’s a really, really big dog behind you. And it looks hungry.”

Cage turned around. A morning dove sat perched on a mailbox, whistling for its lover.

“There’s not a dog over—”

By the time Cage twisted his head around, Jade was already a block away, still running.

Along the way, Jade dropped all of her school belongings. She was only focused on the road in front of her. The only reason that she didn’t go back home was so that the man wouldn’t figure out where she lived. That is, if he didn’t already know.

Jade heard the quick stomping of tennis shoes behind her, and she could hear him sing, “C’mon, baby, light my fire” in a pleasing tenor.

Hearing her favorite song while being chased made Jade think of the word sublime. She had heard it before, in songs by boy bands and “big kid” books at the public library. Jade began to lose momentum, but she kept going, right until she saw the main entrance of the high school. The school was nestled in the quiet neighborhood, using the light brick houses as shelter from the city.

Jade ran to the where the neighborhood sidewalk converted into a walking path in the front, then turned around to see if her biggest fan was still on the prowl. No one was chasing her, and neither was there anyone in plain sight. The bell rang for second period. Within seconds, students began to go from one building to the next, one room to another, conversing noisily to each other along the way. Small pools of students dispersed and regrouped, leaving Jade alone at the front watching them.

“I don’t want detention,” Jade said to herself, “But I don’t want to be chased down by a maniac, either.”

The tardy bell rang, and Jade could see several students from the window running feverishly to their destinations.

‘Should I go and tell them now?’ she thought. ‘He’s probably inside already, posing as a janitor.’

“What are you waiting for?” said a voice behind her.

Jade’s heart stopped.

“What do you want from me?” she said.

“I want you to sing for me,” said Cage.

Jade turned around. He was holding something out to her in his right hand, long and black.

“What’s that?” she said.

“Your microphone.”

Jade felt her cheeks blush. A feeling of shame built up inside her. She told herself that the situation was wrong. She told herself that this man was a lunatic, possibly a rapist. He had no business talking to a fourteen-year-old girl on the way to school. She told herself that she could file harassment charges and send him on his merry way to the slammer, but she didn’t know what was drawing her closer towards him. His arms were muscular, triceps bulging on either side. She noticed that his chest was built, making the lettering of “The Doors” stretch sideways.

“I have to go,” she said. Her voice sounded faint and hoarse, as though she had been screaming for hours.

“That’s too bad,” said Cage, giving the microphone a quick flip.

A silver shine erupted from the tip of the blade.

“Oh shit. That’s not a . . .” Jade stammered.

“You like it?” he asked. “Got it from my granddad. He used it to gut all the fish he caught.”

He tossed the knife straight up in the air and caught it by the handle.

Jade ran towards the building, using every ounce of energy she could muster. As she neared the double-doors, she felt a sharp pain slash her back. She kept going until her hands touched the knobs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bloody blade, inches away from her feet. She knelt down and quickly grabbed it, but a larger object kept her hand from coming up. Cage laughed and twisted his boot on her hand.

“Gotcha, princess. You’re all mine now.”

Jade screamed and tried to wriggle her hand free, but her hand was plastered to the concrete.

A crack of thunder exploded into Cage’s backside. He fell headfirst into the door and toppled over into a mess of bushes on the left side.

Jade cradled her bruised hand and looked up. A woman in uniform was running towards her. The woman went for the bushes and cuffed the man, who was squirming and cursing during the act. A male officer emerged from a bush on the other side of the entryway and led the cuffed man to a police vehicle that seemed to appear from out of nowhere in front of the high school.

“You okay?” the officer said. “We’ve been tracking down this guy for about a month. Let me see your back. We’ll get you to E.R. as soon as I get an ambulance over here.”

“Thanks so much officer. He was a lunatic,” said Jade. Her body was twitching slightly, both from fear and relief.

“Yeah, we’ve been tracking down Cage McMahon for a while now. One of the neighbors called the dispatcher when she spotted him chasing you down Pruett Street,” she said, helping Jade off the ground.

“McMahon? He said his real name was Clive Rellick, but everybody called him Cage,” said Jade.

“Don’t ever believe what anybody tells you,” said the female officer. “That’s one of several names he’s been using lately. When you take out the c’s, it spells “evil” and “killer” backwards. It makes sense, considering he’s convicted of armed robbery and the murder of a twelve-year-old girl from Liberty. I’m surprised that he gave you his real first name, though.”

“I’m just glad you’re a good shot, officer,” said Jade.

“Thanks. And you can call me Connie,” she said. “You know, something like this happened to me when I was a teenager.”

“Is that the reason why you do what you do?” asked Jade.

“More or less,” said Connie. “You know, us girls have to look out for one another.”



Two weeks later, Jade got a call from her brand new cell phone on her way home. Jade took Connie’s advice and decided to walk to and from school with another person. She was walking with a girl named Trish, who lived a few houses down from Jade and was also her lab partner in her chemistry class.

“Who’s that?” asked Trish. “A secret admirer?”

“I hope not,” said Jade, laughing. She looked at the front of the phone.

“It’s just my mom,” she said, flipping it open. “Hey mom, what’s up?”

“I’m fixing turkey spinach surprise,” said her mother. “You okay with that, or do you want that leftover pasta?”

“Whatever you fix is fine,” said Jade. “Did I get anything in the mail?”

“No, not that I saw. Hey, your father can’t find his black Leatherman. Do you use it this week?”

“What’s that?” asked Jade. “Some kind of power tool?”

“No,” said her mother. “You’re thinking of Craftsman. Leatherman is a brand of knives. He used it quite a bit when he used to fish, long before we were married. It looks like it’s been misplaced. Honestly, I think the old man hid the stupid thing from himself, but who knows. Just like that concert shirt from his teenage years that he says disappeared a while back. I swear he’s going to lose his mind one of these days.”

“What shirt, mom?” said Jade, her voice cracking slightly.

“What, hun? I didn’t get that,” said her mother.

“What shirt was missing?” asked Jade.

“I think it said The Deers or something. Or The Dares. I can’t remember.”

“The Doors?” asked Jade.

“Yeah, that’s it! It was The Doors. I didn’t even know he had a shirt like that,” said her mother.

Jade's bandaged hand started to shake, making the phone quiver against her ear.

“Me neither,” said Jade.

"You okay?" asked Trish.

Jade nodded.

"I'll call you later, mom," she said, then clapped the phone shut.

Her phone rang again.

Jade looked at the front of the phone.

"It's my stupid mom, again," said Jade, crossing her eyes at Trish.

"Yeah, what?" Jade said.

"You shouldn't hang up on your mother like that."

"Mom? Who is this?"

And Jade heard it. Her favorite song, sung by a man in a pleasing tenor.