THREE STORIES

I. GLASS


The store manager stood at the window, staring into the night at the single automobile. Decordius looked to the manager and glanced down again at his phone. He had no responses. Maybe he shouldn't have been expecting any. He initiated the break-up. He looked up again and the store manager still stood looking at him. He got out of the car and slowly made his way across the parking lot. As he drew near, the manager turned the keys to open the door. He said something, but Decordius just gave a 'yea' and walked to the clock.
"Well, I'm gone," the manager said, grabbing a plastic bag off the nearby bench. He exited the building and locked the door behind him.

First thing Decordius did was put a radio next to the PA system, to send more approving tunes over the store instead of the usual elevator music. He located his broom and set about the required tasks. He wouldn't have had to break up with her if she had been honest. The doormat rugs were picked up and moved out of the way. Then he filled the floor washer with water and required detergent and set about moving it around the store. He looked at his phone again. Still no messages. Let her think about it some more.

The floor scrubber sloshed too much water on the base of a cardboard display of boxes of raisins and made it soggy. Well, it'll be dry by the time the store opens tomorrow, he thought to himself. Slowly he moved the machine around the store, up one side of the aisle, down the other. As he made his way across the front of the store, he looked into the night to see if anyone was out there. He saw no one. His car was as he left it. No cracked windshield. No slashed tires.

He rounded the back of the store and then he was finished. He drove the scrubber to the back drain and emptied the disgusting water by shoving the hose into the opening. Then he parked the machine and made his way into the store.

Music was playing that he liked to listen to, so he got himself a coke, candy bar, bag of chips, and picked up the recent tabloid. He looked at the beautiful black woman on the cover. He made his way to the dining area and sat to read with whom she was occupying her personal time. Chips were actually pretty good. He must have been hungry. When the song came on by some little girl trio, he crossed his arms on the table and put his head down. In no time, he wasn't hearing the music anymore. He was lost in exhausted slumber.

When Decordius finally came to, his neck was sore from the utterly uncomfortable sleeping position. He wiped at his eyes and yawned. He sat a bit longer, staring at the woman on the magazine cover. Remembering his own personal events.

"Then I just don't want to see you anymore."

He looked at the phone again. Still no messages, no incoming calls. Nothing. He checked to make sure it was operating. Yep, everything okay. Fully charged. No messages.

He made his way to the back of the store to get the floor buffer and complete his job. He ran the noisy machine up and down each aisle, covering what territory he could. He knew that raisin display would dry out. It would be fine when the store opened in the next couple of hours.

When he was finished with the buffing, he parked that device once more and began rolling out the rugs, sweeping them off. Straightening them up at the doors and in designated areas. His night was done. Now he'd return to his reality when he got off from work. It was morning now, but still very dark outside. He put the magazine back on the stand, threw his trash away. Left some money at customer service. He hung up the PA system and turned off the radio. The regular easy listening tunes filled the store.

He made his way to the first register and sat on the conveyor belt and grabbed another magazine. He began thumbing through it. Celebrity hot spots, latest fashions, new songs. Singers and actors he knew as children now seemed so old. Just like he was. He put the magazine back and picked up another one. More of the same stuff. New movies. Sure to be a blockbuster. New songs. Sure to be a hit. Making a comeback. Maybe he should try to text back to make sure everything is okay. They've both had a chance to sleep on it. He put the magazine back and pulled out his phone, dialed the number. Hung up before it started ringing. No messages for him. He looked up to see the outside and there was the faintest of blue sky appearing in the distance, giving shape to buildings and trees as dawn neared. Street seemed vacant of headlights. He deduced no one wanted to be out in the morning cold. He looked to the phone again. Just call and make sure she's up. He pressed to dial the number, then clicked the phone back off. She was the one who wasn't honest, not him. He looked out the window again and the sky was even more blue. He walked up to the glass and gazed out into the slowly illuminating parking lot. Somebody should be here by now, he thought. He sat down and checked the news. Nothing spectacular going on.

Decordius looked out the window yet again. With each glance, the sky grew bluer. He knew this from countless mornings past; everytime he looked outside, the sky would be slowly but noticeably brightening. But somebody should have been here by now. Usually Mrs. Tisdale, the head bookkeeper was first, and the deli workers. No one was pulling into the parking lot. In fact, no cars were out on the road.

He checked the news again and got the same results. He decided he'd call her. Forget this. He wanted to talk. He was going to make the first move and call her. He dialed her number. It went to voicemail.

"Uh, yea, this is Decordius. I've thought it over and all. Just give me a call back. Allright? Bye."

He almost said he loved her. He looked outside yet again. The sky was bright enough he could see the pale color of the roads. He looked at the time. Yea, it was gone time for somebody to be there. He dialed up the store manager and went to voicemail yet again.

"Hey, Mr. Sanders, this is Decordius. I'm in the store waiting to be let out. No one seems to be showing up. Not even the deli workers. So can you come let me out, or get someone here to let me out? This is Decordius."

As he hung up the phone, he stared out the window at the view slowly emerging from the darkness. The streets, far off businesses, trees, power line poles, all getting brighter and brighter in the slowly rising sun, but not a car to be seen. No morning vehicles making their way to work, occupants unhindered by the cold.

He put his hands against the glass, then pressed the side of his face against it, to strain to see what he could. No movement outside at all. Nothing.

Decordius stepped back in and sat on the register once more. He crossed his arms in mock frustration and just looked back and forth.

"I will break this window out if I have to," he yelled to no one.

He looked to the tabloids again, at the woman he had gazed at first that night, checked some other covers, then looked up again when he thought he heard a car, or a truck. Once again, the outdoors was even brighter. He could see signs across the way, morning wind blowing through the trees and not a hint of life.

He dialed Sanders again.

"Yea, look, somebody needs to hurry up and show up. I got to get out of here, man. I need to go. Call me back when you get the chance. I'm just going to have to break out a door or window to get out of here. I don't want to, but I will if I don't get out of here."

He hung up the phone again. Not even a deli worker. No one.

He dialed 911. He got an operator.

"Yea, I'm locked in the grocery market and no one is showing up to let me out. I need to get out. I work here all night as the custodian. Everything's allright, but I can't get any manager to show up and let me out."

"I'll send an officer to check on that for you, sir." She hung up.

It was practically morning. He looked down the other way at the businesses. None of them was opening either. No vehicle was to be seen. He could break the window, but she said she was sending a car to check on him. Just his luck he'd break the window and the police would show up.

Decordius looked around the store, all quiet and still. He had seen it this way a thousand and one times, so this was no big deal. Then he turned and looked outside once more.

The sun was all but shining in the morning sky. The day was a pale blue. His car still sat in the parking lot. Only vehicle out there. All that seperated him from it was this glass. He was going to break it. He looked for something to strike it with. He checked in the drawer on the register and there was a hammer. Small, but metal. He picked it up and approached the glass door. Just smash out the lower pane, then he could crawl through. All it takes. Was that a car? He's going to do it. Tap it nice and hard. Was that a car? As he thought, the sun rose higher and the blue sky grew paler and paler.

Where was everybody?

Decordius dialed 911 again. This time, he got sent to voicemail. 911 wanted him to leave a message. He spun around as if he expected to see someone in the store. He looked back to the front.

He dialed 0 for the operator. The phone just rang. No one picked up. His eyes widened looking into the gradually brightening landscape. He dialed 911 again, please leave a message, so he decided then he'd break the glass. He turned to retrieve the hammer where he had sat it down on the floor next to the side door.

Decordius looked at the floor around the door. The hammer was there, right beside the door.

On the outside.

Decordius grabbed the door handle and shook it violently. Somebody had obviously opened the door, taken the hammer and locked it back again. All while he stood there. He shook the door as hard as he could, to set off the alarm if nothing else and yelled as loud as he could. He kicked at the lower pane of glass with his foot. He kicked it again. He punched the upper panel as hard as he could. He was holding back on hitting them. He could tell that. He stepped away from the door and looked outside. He looked at his phone again to check the news.

Battery low. Bad connection. He didn't have his charger.

He made his way to the store phone and dialed out. Voicemail yet again.

"Daddy, ah, this is Decordius. If you're there, pick up. Ah, something strange is going on. I'm at the store. I need you to come here and help me. Someone's messing with me."

He hung up, glancing across to the door where the hammer still resided outside.

He stormed off to the household section of the store to find another hammer on the shelf. He ripped the cardboard off of it. This claw hammer was bigger than the other one, slightly bigger. He made his way back to the door and was ready to hit the lower pane of glass. Just hit it, break it, shatter it, then he can get out.

He gave the panel one good tap, then a louder hit. Didn't even crack. He struck it even harder. Still no mark. He looked at the other hammer, still sitting outside. He knew that hammer had been inside, obviously.

He was going to set a trap and leave this hammer in the exact same spot, then he thought, what would that prove? He already knew someone was messing with him with the first hammer. He walked away from the door, looking up and spinning about as he did so. He looked all about the store, gazing even upward as tho he would climb out the roof if he had to.

And the sun shined even brighter in the morning.

Decordius took the hammer with him this time. He journeyed to the beer aisle and grabbed a couple of his preferences. He ventured back to the dining area and sat down. He could see the front of the store at an angle and how bright the outside was getting. He hadn't had anything to eat since that candy bar and those chips, but he seemed to have no appetite. He drank a beer, looking about as he did so. He pulled out the phone again. Dead. He tossed it upon the table. He wondered if he could find a charger around here somewhere, in a desk drawer if nothing else. He finished off the beer and took off for Sanders' office, carrying the second bottle and the hammer with him.

Upon entering the office, Decordius looked around at the plainness of it all. He was still waiting for someone to suddenly show up, tap him on the shoulder, "what are you doing in here?"

He picked up the picture frame on Sanders desk, looked at those in the frame. He put the frame back, then walked around the desk to sit down. He opened the top drawer and looked about. He wasn't shuffling through anything. He deduced keys would be sitting on top in whichever drawer they were placed.

He checked the second drawer. Shouldn't be so far down in here. Where else would they keep the door keys? Then he looked at the tv. Where was the remote to turn it on? He quickly did so and began searching for a news channel or something. He really wasn't surprised when all he found was tv reruns, infomercials and some old movies.

Decordius looked at the phone on Sanders' desk and picked up the receiver, anticipating dialing out, but only got message machines. He exhaled then, just dropping the phone on the desk, and leaned back in the chair. He put the hammer on the desk and opened the second beer bottle and began drinking. He finished off the beer as he leaned back in the chair. The tv played a grainy, old, black-and-white movie. He listened to the dialogue a bit, how unrealistic and foreign it sounded, the way they spoke. He took a deep breath and looked up. Maybe he could tear through the ceiling somehow?

Decordius took a deep breath and raised his head. He was hungry now. He looked about and saw he was still in the office. A color movie was now playing, with a redheaded woman looking like she was from the 1950s singing. He had nodded off? He looked at the empty beer bottle still sitting on the desk and checked the label. What had he drunk?

He stood and walked out of the office and looked to the front of the store once more. Still vacant. No people, no cars. And now it was growing dark. Had he slept the entire day. And there, still in the parking lot, was his car. Unmoved.

That's final, he decided. He's breaking out a window. He turned to get the hammer. The hammer? It ended up outside. But he had a second hammer. Where was it? In the office, on the desk. He raced back to the office to see if this hammer had vanished as well. No, there it still was. On the desk where he left it.

"DECORDIUS!"

He turned at hearing his name. Someone had actually called him. He looked at the tv and the woman holding a microphone. She was talking about 'recording us'. He grabbed up the hammer and walked out of the office.

"I'm getting out of here!" he yelled as he walked toward the front of the store. He clutched the hammer, ready to smash the glass as hard as he could. Not a soul around. He stood motionless and looked about. Why was no one out there? Where was everybody?

He walked up to the glass and pressed his forehead against it, raising his hand without the hammer, and tapping on the glass with his finger. The hammer slipped from his other hand and landed on the floor. He was hungry, so he ventured to the meat department. He was going to cook something in the deli. He wasn't sure what, but he was having something. Ribs? Steak? Burgers?

He took his choice to the deli and prepared it, steaming hot. Practically burned, but he was still hungry, so he had no prblems eating it and washing it down with another beer of a different brand this time. He couldn't believe someone had drugged his beer, but then someone had taken the hammer. He kicked off his shoes that he had been wearing much too long and wiggled his toes in his socks. He finished his dinner, downed the beer, then made his way to the office again, grabbing a candy bar as he passed. He got comfortable in the chair and leaned back to watch the tv.

He flicked through channels as he ate the candy bar, stopping on the station identified as NEWS. He wasn't getting anything there. Nothing but snow. He clicked on and found an old tv show or something. He leaned back to watch it. He wanted to be caught watching tv in Sanders office. Then he could get out of this place.

He looked about at his predicament. If everybody outside was killed by a poisonous gas, the store wasn't airtight. Why wasn't it seeping in? If everyone wasn't dead, where were they? He looked over to a filing cabinet drawer and pulled it open. Still no keys, but he saw a file labeled payroll. Well, this should be interesting, he thought. He began thumbing through the figures, but it didn't matter. He didn't know who many of these people were. They worked days and evenings. He worked nights.

There was laughter coming from the tv. The bald man was running around, making ridiculous gestures. The audience was laughing at him. The woman seemed perplexed. Decordius smiled. Just break the glass. Just break the glass. He leaned back in the chair. He deduced he'd fall asleep again. That dinner was good. Break the glass. He decided he might as well break the glass and be done with it. He wiped at his eyes and nose.

A different show was on the tv. Different fashions. Different hairstyles. An old rerun from a different decade. He had nodded off again. That chair was too comfortable. He walked out of the office to look at the front of the store again. It was pitch black outside. And there on the floor was still the second hammer. But when he looked to the first hammer, it was still outside.

"But how did that one get outside?" he asked aloud. He let out a loud scream as he raced forward to retrieve the second hammer, picked it up, stepped back and let it fly. The hammer spun in the air, but the rubber handle struck the glass without even crackin it. The hammer spiraled back at Decordius and hit his hand when he put it up to deflect it.

Decordius hollered out loud and collapsed to the floor misery. The hammer hurt, but he was fed up with this whole spectacle. He dropped between two registers and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked a few times, then rared back as he inhaled. He raised his arm to lift himself up, but it was the one the hammer struck. He slumped back down onto the floor. He rubbed his forehead with his hand. Just break the glass. He slid his hand down over his nose and mouth, then slowly opened his eyes.

And it happened again. The piped in music seemed to change midstream, from one song to another.

"Oh, no!" Decordious thought as he now raised himself up with his other hand, so he didn't black out from any pain. Sure enough, when he looked out the windows, it seemed to be daylight. He didn't know what day, or even how many days there had been. He's going to break the glass now. Where did the hammer ricochet to?

Decordious looked for the hammer, but couldn't discover where it had been propelled to. He laughed now at the situation.

"Well," he said, "I'll just go get another hammer off the rack. I know there is at least one more over there."

Then he heard crying. Faint, soft whimpering.

Decordius looked to the window and raced toward the glass to look out at who this might be.

"Hello!" he shouted out. Break it! Just break it!

He looked from one side of the parking lot to the other, straining to see who was making that sound. Finally he saw the figure, toddling along.

"Hey!" he called out. "Hey!"

He rapped on the window. The infant seemed to be crying too loud to hear anything else.

"Hey!" he tapped on the glass again, a little bit louder.

The tyke stopped and looked around a bit then saw Decordius at the window, waving his arms. The baby let out another holler, then turned and began walking toward the store front. Decordius moved along so the infant would follow him. The baby hesitated, then walked again.

Decordius deduced the child was just beginning to learn how to walk. The baby was dirty all over and had on socks, but no shoes. Decordius had to find out how that hammer got out and knew this baby was a test to get him to break the glass, so he decided he'd let the kid do it instead.

"See that hammer? Pick it up. That's it. Pick it up. Now hit the window. Hit it! Yea! Haha! You can do it."

The child frowned up, showing two bottom teeth. It mumbled something incoherent, and Decordius just encouraged it further to hit the glass.

"Hit it! That's it! Hit!"

The rapping noise the baby made grew louder and louder. The baby seemed to make protests of some kind in doing the task.

"You can do it! Come on!"

The hits were coming loud now. The baby stopped, wrinkled up its face and began fussing some more. It dropped the hammer. It slapped an empty palm on the glass.

"No, no," Decordius said. "use the hammer! Use the hammer! Pick it up. Pick it up."

The baby reached down to pick up the hammer again and sat, moving the hammer about. It began wailing some more.

"Pick the hammer up," Decordius said. "Pick it up!"

He'd have to show the baby what to do, Decordius decided.

"Don't go away! I'll be right back."

He ran to the appliance aisle in the store and snatched up another hammer, ripping the cardboard label off and made his way back to the door as fast as he could. It took no time at all.

Nevertheless, the infant was gone. The hammer was still there.

Decordius slumped to the floor, never taking his eyes off the outside hammer. It had been moved, hadn't it? If he imagined the baby, then the hammer would still be in the same position before the baby showed up. The hammerhead was turned toward the door, or was it the handle toward the door? Had the hammer been moved or was it still in the same place from when it mysteriously made its way outside the door to begin with.

Decordius couldn't remember.

"Hey! Hey, kid!" Decordius yelled. "Come back!"

But he suspected the infant had taken off, thinking Decordius had left him, or was never there to begin with?

"Just sleep," he said to himself. "If you're not going to break the glass, just close your eyes, and more days and nights will pass by. You got a whole store to live in. Just sleep."

He looked at the last hammer he had acquired. He had wanted to show the baby how to do it. But was the baby ever there?

"You want me to break the glass," Decordius said out loud. He tapped, then pounded the hammer on the tile floor. "Break the glass."

Decordius looked up again and once more, the outside seemed to be growing dark. Or was it the dawn brightening the day? How long had he been on the floor now? He stood up, tossing the hammer down near the door.

"Take it," he said. "Take all of them."

He looked out the front window, then did an about-face to see the entire store.

"I don't care, because I have a fully stocked grocery store to sustain me, and when it runs out, then I'll break the glass and only then, however long it takes. I severed my ties with the outside world, and all that stands between me and that empty world is this glass storefront, so I'll stay here, and when I deem it is necessary, then I'll seek my escape."

II. DOZE


"Nebretta, you gettin' the chips?"

"I'm comin' with them," the nasally voice from the kitchen called out.

"Hurry up. The show's startin'," the other woman said as she reclined in the chair.

Nebretta made her way from the kitchen, the crinkling bags of chips in her hands all but drowning out the monitor.

"Where's my beer?" Nebretta asked as she placed herself in the second seat with a mighty expulsion of air from the cushion.

"Right there," the first woman replied, motioning her hand toward the bottle on the tv tray. "Gimme one of those bags."

The two women were silent as they opened the bags and each put a hand within to bring back a couple of chips, and the crunching ensued.

"They supposed to have an interview with Alerian Traden, aren't they?"

"That's what the commercial said earlier today," Nebretta answered. "He's going to talk about how happy he is being single."

She laughed to herself.

"How happy you think he is, Okelia?"

"I know I'd do everything to make him happy so he'd make me happy," Okelia said, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Turn it up some."

"You got the remote."

With that revelation, the volume was increased.

". . . . is Hollywood Here!" the smiling blonde woman on the screen proclaimed happily.

"We'll be telling you all about what's going viral in movies, music and online, and what everyone has to say," the smiling fellow sitting beside the woman declared.

"And we'll have an exclusive interview with the celebrity sensation Alerian Traden."

The man turned to the woman.

"He is hot, isn't he?"

"He sure is," she replied. "Number one in the nation."

"Number one in the world," the guy corrected, still smiling.

"Then hurry up and get to interviewing him," Okelia said to the screen, eating another mouthful of chips.

"But before we get to Alerian Traden," the woman quipped, "we're going to be talking to Carroll James and the circumstances concerning his latest effort, the reality series called Doze."

"What's that?" Okelia asked.

"what?"

"Doze."

"Oh," Nebretta said, "I've seen that. It's a show about people sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Okelia asked.

"Yea."

"What else do they do?"

"Nothing."

"Are they gettin' it on before they go to sleep?"

"No," Nebretta said. "All you see is a closeup of their face and watch them while they sleep. I watched it one time. It was silly."

Okelia looked at Nubretta with a puzzled expression.

"That's all they do is sleep?"

"Yea," Nubretta responded. "Here," she said, motioning to the image, "that's the guy that does it."

The two women looked at the screen to see a rather simple looking fellow in glasses with straight blonde hair cut in an odd manner, his face drawn up in a painful expression, seeming to be overwrought about something.

"Not very handsome, is he?" Okelia said, taking a drink from her beer.

"You had high hopes for this series, Carroll, so what went wrong?" the woman interviewer asked.

"Phadrae, obviously people just refuse to acknowledge the emphasis that some of us place on sleeping. There are more of us out there than people want to bleieve."

"You invested a lot in this show," Phadrae asked, feigning concern.

Carroll James made an even more painful countenance than before.

"The show is good. The show, . . . "

"Doze," she said, interrupting her. He gave her a startled look.

"Yes, Doze," he repeated, then continued. "Doze got very high viewer response when it first premiered, . . ."

Phadrae again inserted, "were people just curious on that first airing?"

Carroll looked at her with a nearing wild-eyed expression.

"there were those who did not want Doze to succeed," he stammered. Her interruptions seemed to have him shaking.

"Why was that?"

"There are people who just have hate over the idea of some of us finding importance in the recognition of this stage in existence. They refuse to recognize there are people who feel the need to focus on when we sleep. We consider it a vital part of our daily routine."

Okelia held the beer bottle to her mouth and hesitated.

"Nebretta."

"Hmm?" Nebretta said, picking crumbs from her bathrobe.

"Why is anybody suppoed to be interested in that man's sleeping?"

Nebretta took a sip from her bottle, then after swallowing, she spoke.

"That was his point. We were supposed to relate to seeing him sleep with our own sleeping."

Okelia looked at her with wide eyes.

"If I'm asleep, how am I supposed to relate to his sleeping?"

"I don't know," Nubretta said, holding a few chips to her mouth, then hesitating so she could respond.

"If people had just tuned in, instead of being influenced by online terrorists who sought to damage the capabilities of the show, they would have definitely enjoyed Doze."

"Online terrorists?" Phadrae asked.

"Phadrae," Carroll began, "I wish there had been a show that dealt with this topic like this when I was growing up. It definitely would have made my life much easier! How can people say they couldn't relate to the subject matter if they didn't even watch it to find out?"

"Did the program show something about him having insomnia?" Okelia asked.

"No," Nubretta answered. "Just showed a closeup of him sleeping. Nothing else."

Phadrae spoke on the screen, "I think people would have watched it if they . . . ."

"Why would anyone watch that?" Okelia asked.

"I looked at it to see what it was about," Nubretta said. "Doze could have been about female deer for all I knew."

"Nubretta," Okelia said, looking to the monitor. "Nubretta, look!"

Without turning away from the screen, Nubretta placed the bottle on the tv tray and likewise remained transfixed on the monitor.

Carroll James had hold of PHadrae's shirt around her collar bone.

"Carroll, let go of my clothes!" Phadrae was ordering.

"Just answer me," Carroll spoke loudly, "have you seen Doze?"

"Let me go!"

"Have you watched it?"

"Stop! You're . . . you're hurting me!"

"It is people like you who caused Doze to get low ratings and lose its audience," Carroll growled. "It was your blind hatred for something you deemed different that made you turn against any potential Doze may have had. It's your fault!"

Carroll James had a twisted fist of fabric that was pulling across Phadrae's neck, hindering her movement and making it difficult for her to sit up or maintain her balance.

"You haven't even seen Doze, so how can you ask me anything about it?" he yelled. He was now up from his seat, which made it even more difficult for Phadrae to get her footing.

"Stop!"

Then Nubretta and Okelia both sat forward in the recliners, practically perched on the edge.

"Okelia, look!"

Phadrae screamed as she seemed to fall behind the desk in front of her. But now Carroll was looking at the new entry to the scene. The stunning figure seemed intent to help up Phadrae, but hesitating for a single split-second, turned his attention to Carroll.

"Girl, it's Alerian Traden!" Nubretta yelled. The two women laughed.

Alerian lunged to Carroll with the intention of driving him away from Phadrae, but Carroll's fist was entangled in her blouse, so as he went back, Phadrae did the same. Alerian strived to catch Phadrae and see what he could do to free her. He did a jab at Carroll's arm to make him let the blouse go, but with his focus not being on Carroll, Alerian didn't see him pick up the ink pen.

The two women on the recliners flew into screaming hysterics. The screen cut off instead of continuing the tragic array which had been going out live.

"He stabbed him!" Okelia screamed.

"What what?"

"I think it was a nail file!"

"Where'd he get a nail file?" Nubretta yelled.

"He stabbed him!" Okelia shouted again.

"Oh, my Lord," Nubretta said, leaning back in the chair.

"Hurry," Okelia said. "Hand me your phone so I can see if it's being reported. What they are saying now."

Nubretta's hand was shaking as she passed the phone to Okelia.

"Was that real?" Nubretta said from behind her hands covering her face. She was beginning to sob.

"I don't know," Okelia replied. "I hope not."

"Oh, Lord," Nubretta said. "He was trying to help her. He was trying to help that woman."

"Sometimes I guess it just dont' do any good trying to help people," Okelia said, staring at the phone.

"He was wanting to help her because that Doze man was attacking her," Nubretta stated as an explanation.

"See if there's some news on somewhere about what happened," Okelia said. She looked at the phone some more, then she continued. "Maybe it was that woman's fault for trying to talk to that man about his stupid show. Maybe it was Alerian's fault for trying to help her."

Okelia paused a moment.

"And that guy seemed to think it was everybody else's fault who didn't watch his show."

"I don't want to watch a show about sleeping," Nubretta said as she moved through various stations. She found one that interrupted regular broadcasting to discuss what had happened.

"They've taken him to the hospital. He stabbed Alerian with an ink pen."

Okelia scrolled through articles.

"He's lost a lot of blood. They've run him on in to emergency."

Nubretta sat for a moment, then hit the remote to turn off the screen. Okelia looked up at her.

"What are you doing?"

Nubretta stood up and dropped the remote on the tv tray. She looked at Okelia.

"I'm going to sleep."

III. ABDUCTION OF THE PLESIOSAUR



The vehicle stopped in front of the elementary school. The driver sat for a moment, then stepped out away from the building, so the children couldn't see the attire of pale green foam. Then the driver reached in to get the mask and put it on. Closing the door, the animated character of Pleasy O'Saur stood in the parking lot with green flippers for hands and feet and silly, googly eyes. For a moment, Pleasy stood in the sunlight, unmoving, then walked around the car to enter the school. Well, it was a job. It paid well. Looked good on the resume. Even with the shoes built in to the bottom of the costume, the gait definitely resembled a walking fish and took time. Sure enough, as Pleasy walked in front of the building, excited screams were suddenly heard from within, as the students saw their favorite beloved character of learning and friendship, Pleasy O'Saur.
Pleasy turned to 'look' at the children, with the googly blue eyes and big toothy grin and waved a flipper at them. The screams got even louder. Pleasy didn't stop walking, wanting to hurry up and enter the building. It was hot out here. Pleasy walked up to the main entrance, waving at children looking in the adjoining windows on either side. Teachers could tell it was futile to try to get the children to return to their seats with the one-and-only Pleasy O'Saur outside.

Pleasy was almost at the door and took a deep breath upon hearing the children's screams and yells. Once out of view of any windows, Pleasy was puzzled as to why the screams seemed to be even louder, and there was a definite different tone occurring now. Pleasy was almost at the door when the door opened first, striking Pleasy against the brick wall behind the door. Pleasy turned the head to try to see who exactly it was.
There was an unknown person, a stranger, emerging from the building. His face was red and his eyes were glaring even bigger than Pleasy's. The costumed dinosaur tried to back away from the figure, but suddenly felt an arm in one of the foamy flippers being grabbed.

"Mr. Danton!" a female voice called from within the building. "Please, don't hurt anyone!"

"I've had it with you!" this individual shouted back, startling Pleasy with the gruff voice. "Come here, you! You're going with me!"

Pleasy struggled to resist until the abductor showed the gun up high enough to be seen.

"Quit resisting or you'll get this!" he hollered. Pleasy followed instructions, unwillingly but no longer resisted.

Children were now hollering upon seeing their beloved Pleasy, who came all the way from Scotland to see them, being shoved into a car on the passenger side and the door slammed on the flipper. Only the fabric was caught, the person within wasn't injured, but the inner foot being the one trapped left Pleasy in a difficult position in the seat. Before Pleasy could manage to do anything in the automobile, the gunman had made his way to the driver's side and opened the door, getting into the driver's seat. Quickly he reached across and grabbed the seat belt and further inconvenienced Pleasy, strapping upper flippers with the belt.

Pleasy tried talking, but the costume muffled anything said. The driver cranked the car and sped out of the school parking lot. Pleasy was tossed to and fro in the seat, resulting in further disorientation. It was hard to breath in the mask and the car was hot as well. Pleasy tried bringing a flipper up to pull off the mask to get better air, but once again, was restrained by the belt, so the plesiosaur was stuck, trapped, unable to move.

The car flew down the road, barely stopping at stop signs, if at all. fortunately most traffic by then had already arrived at work, but sure enough, the way this guy was driving, he'd find a vehicle to sideswipe. Pleasy was rattled by the hit and again, didn't know if someone had been injured or not and could only sit in the dark mask, barely able to see out of the viewing mesh around the neck.

Tires squealed as the crazed driver sailed down the road. In the distance, Pleasy began to hear sirens, faint, then they grew louder and louder. Pleasy knew he heard them too. One almost seemed like it was right upon the vehicle. Pleasy was trying to be braced, but was already so with the trapped flipper and the seat belt, so any hope of the vehicle flipping and Pleasy not being hurt had to be in the costume padding acting as a buffer. The vehicle made another swerve, throwing Pleasy the other way, but again, the figure didn't move, just the sensation.

Another strike, something, a car or whatever. Light came through the costume eyes, but all that could be seen going out was the roof of the car. Pleasy tried lowering the head to try to see what was in front and viewed dodging cars and trucks with close calls and definite jarring hits.

I just wanted to make some money and have fun while doing it, Pleasy thought. How did all of this happen? Pleasy pressed the hand in the left flipper to the passenger window, since the right arm was pinned. Straightening up the mask was now achieved by being able to tug on the neck of the mask and pull on it, so Pleasy could now see out of the googly costume eyes.

Vehicles flew by. Pleasy looked at the occupants and pressed the flippered hand against the window. People looked and pointed. Some were surprised the vehicle was moving so fast and wondered what that silly children's dinosaur was doing in the speeding car. They soared by a car with two preschoolers on the back seat who, upon seeing the beloved Pleasy O'Saur, began laughing and waving. And the lime green dinosaur face smiled back.

Other motorists were aware of what had happened, listening to it on the news or getting an alert on their phone. They were trying to let law enforcement know where the car and kidnapped dinosaur was heading. Some phones emerged from the vehicle to get a picture of Pleasy O'Saur flying by, taken captive in the automobile. They were immediately uploaded.

Pleasy sat back in the seat. With a little movement of the left hand, the mask was managed to be lifted a small tad, allowing air within. Pleasy breathed in the much cooler air with absolute relish. It was now hot in the costume. Maybe if a flipper could reach a window and roll it down would help.

"Bet you want to know what I did, don't you?"

Pleasy had all but forgotten the fellow was in the car, the costume was so stifling and receiving air became the main focus.

"I didn't do nothing!" the driver screamed.

The yell made Pleasy jump, extremely startled.

"I didn't do nothing!" he yelled again. "It was that hag in charge of the school! It was her and Andy's mother! They were all the problems! They caused all this!"

Pleasy tried maneuvering again to see where that gun might be, but to no avail. Even if the gun was seen, there was nothing Pleasy could do about it, trapped in this predicament.

"Tried to work with her, but she wouldn't have it! I wish I had never gotten in a relationship with her to begin with!"

Pleasy sat back and rested. Just rest.

"She wanted to deny me visitation if I didn't pay child support, but my lawyer didn't say it like that! That wasn't the amount we agreed upon!"

The car made a sharp turn, striking . . . . . something. Pleasy didn't know anymore. Then there was another swerve.

"I just wanted to see my son. And they wouldn't let me! She made me hit her! She stood in my way! I didn't want to do it!"

Pleasy just took a deep breath and listened.

"Was I wrong to want to see my kid? NO!"

The yell made Pleasy jump again. Then the car made another hit, hard, on the passenger side.

"I just wanted to see Andy!"

There was another turn. Pleasy was all but like a limp rider on an amusement park ride, tho obviously there was nothing amusing about this. There was another strike, another jolt, then a jarring hit and the car came to a stop. Pleasy heard steam emerging from somewhere outside. Pleasy tried once again to twist and turn the mask to see their location. All that could be seen was cyclone fencing. Must have struck a post. Brick wall beyond the fence.

"I provided for him! I did what I could! Do you hear me?"

Frightened, Pleasy managed to move the mask up and down in agreement.

"I was a good father! She was the one who didn't want a kid, so now she's keeping him away from me. She doesn't even want him. She doesn't love him. I tried telling them that at court, but they wouldn't listen to me! Lousy female judge!"

Pleasy waited to hear more, but the person grew quiet, save for hard breathing. The hissing from the motor was diminishing. The abductor sniffed, then he started crying.

"Andy was the only good thing I ever did," he wailed. "She's not getting everything from me. It's going to Andy. It's all tied up in a bank account she doesn't know about, and there's even more for him in a storage unit and she's never going to find it! It's all for Andy! All for Andy!"

Pleasy strained to hear a possible siren in the distance coming closer, but couldn't detect any.

"I was going to try to tell Andy about it at his school, but that sow wouldn't let me! She's friends with Andy's mother. She made me hit her! She wouldn't let me see my son."

There was a thumping, dull thud noise coming from the car.

"She wouldn't let me tell Andy. Said to tell her and she would tell Andy. Like I'd trust her. She's friends with Andy's mother!"

There was a click which Pleasy thought at first came from the engine, something in the engine, but then realized the click was in the car with them.

"Here it is," Danton said, holding up some papers Pleasy could see twisting the mask around again.

"This is the bank account information, in my son's name, and the storage unit address and key, also in his name. All for him. All for you, Andy. Daddy loves you! Daddy loves you." He was crying again.

Suddenly he grabbed Pleasy by the collar.

"Are you friends with her? Huh? Are you? You were going to that school! Are you friends with that principal?"

"No," Pleasy managed from within the costume.

"No?" Danton repeated. "That's good. You better not be, because I got to trust you to do what's right by Andy, . . . and by me."

Pleasy detected paper being shoved within the neck, sudden crinkling paper poking flesh within the outfit.

"That's the bank account information and the storage unit information, and the key. I'm trusting you to see that Andy gets it."

"Andy," Pleasy repeated, trying to reach the distraught father, sensing what was next. Sirens were finally heard slowly approaching.

"I'm never going to see Andy again," he sobbed. "Good bye, Andy! I love you, son!"

Pleasy could make out the flashing red of the distant sirens drawing near, but it was suddenly intermingled with another crimson red, after a very loud pop. There was a sudden strike toward Pleasy and a weighty form slammed on the left flipper. Pleasy knew what it must mean and struggled to hit the button, find the button first, that would release the seatbelt. The corpse's shoulder and back were pressing on Pleasy's arm within the suit, but finally Pleasy hit the button, releasing the seat belt.

The sirens were very loud to the point of they seemed to be as close as they could possibly get. It was then Pleasy realized an earlier thud noise was something burning in the motor and it was gradually intensifying. With the seatbelt off, Pleasy struggled with the door handle to open the door, but apparently whatever the driver had struck while speeding caused some damage. Finally the door unlocked, but still wouldn't open. It was jammed. Pleasy pushed as much as possible. The burning from the motor was growing stronger. Pleasy could smell the black smoke. Where were the police?

Pleasy pushed on the door, hearing a loud creak and the door opened. The dinosaur stumbled out onto the ground and began to crawl over pavement. Police now began approaching the vehicle to make certain the gunman was indeed immobilized. Pleasy struggled to become upright, then started the waddle away from the car. There was another boom noise and breaking glass. Something exploded in the car. An officer had seized Pleasy by the foamy flipper and moved in the direction of a paramedic vehicle.

The delight of children everywhere was placed on the bumper of the vehicle and the sleeves were pulled off the costume to better get at the person within. Then the mask was pulled off.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I am now. Just very shook up."

"Paramedics will help you, check your blood pressure and all. There's blood splattered all over the costume."

"Don't let any children see that. Hide it from them."

"Don't worry. They're not going to see it. Did you know anything about that guy?"

"He grabbed me at the school," as sobbing started, "where I was to entertain children."

"It's okay now," said the paramedic. "We want to take you to the hospital to give you a check-up, but you seem okay, considering the ordeal you've just been through."

"So tell me," the officer said, "did he say anything to you at all?"

"No. He said very little to me. I have no idea why he did this or what he was after. I don't even know his name."

The papers had slipped down into the costume and were nestled securely about at the waist.