Beat 68: Even Inchworms Have Their Pride
Even though she’d left
the TV on, Jane didn’t have much interest in the promos flashing across the
screen (especially those mentioning Wrestlepalooza). She just sat atop her bed, thumbing through a
catalog in search of some nice furniture.
Not much else mattered at the moment; the sun was setting, so she’d
figured she’d earned the right to have a bit of rest.
She flipped to a new
page. I wonder if this table will match the kitchen’s décor, she thought
as she pressed a finger to her chin. Maybe they’ve got different models. I’ll have to go down to the store and see for
myself. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find something even nicer? She glanced to her right, taking note of
the groove in the bed -- one so deep she could have used it as a makeshift
tub. Oh,
but I wonder if Bernie will like what I find.
Maybe I’ll wait until he gets home…or maybe I’ll just surprise him with
--
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
The slight smile on
Jane’s face evaporated. “So she’s at it
again,” she said with a sigh.
Jane shook her
head. Smooth talking on Lloyd’s part;
too bad he spoiled it by hacking up a few more chunks of his stomach.
“What am I even good for?” Sheila wailed. “I can’t seduce you…I can’t cook for you…I
can’t even keep you unconscious for the rest of the day!”
“To be fair, I’ve quite
the resistance to electric -- HZZZZZZZZZZADGHADGHADGHA!”
Jane thumbed through
another page. Once again, things looked
as if they’d run their natural course. A
manic daughter, a freaked-out boy, a crying daughter, a running-away boy…the
usual cycle, give or take some extreme measures (either by Jane, or by
Sheila). They’d gone through the dance
before; maybe this one would prove her right at last. She just wondered if they’d get sued…again.
“What am I supposed to
do now? Let you go? But if I do that, it’ll just prove my mom
right! And I don’t wanna lose again!”
“Then let’s try talking instead of reckless action! Trust me, Miss O’Leary -- I know how much
harm can be done by just rushing in without a -- HZZZZZZZZZZADGHADGHADGHA! Would
you please stop shocking me?!”
Sheila paused. So did Lloyd.
Jane perked up her ears -- and of course, waited for the magic words.
“Do over.”
“Can we at least go
with the blackjack this time? I think I
prefer the blackjack to the baton, the chloroform, the rod, the baseball bat,
the-- HRK!”
Jane sighed. We are
so getting sued. She tossed the
catalog onto the floor, reached under her pillow, and pulled out the latest
issue of Adipose Monthly to “read the
articles.” Then again, that Lloyd sure does seem like a nice boy. I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time
with him…outside the courtroom.
She accidentally
crinkled a page. God, my daughter’s dumb.
*
The night had finally
settled in. Barely a sun ray had made
into Sheila’s room that morning; now the most that could get in was a strip of
light from a street lamp buzzing outside.
Thankfully, Sheila had left on a night light -- thankfully one without
any aggressive colors -- but an unshakeable dimness still filled the room. No snoring, though; Sheila just lay in her
heart-shaped bed, no doubt lamenting the fact that she should have measured
properly first. At the moment, her legs
hung a bit off the edges.
But even with the night
upon them, Lloyd didn’t feel much like sleeping. For starters, he was still tied up in the
chair. For another, he’d toppled onto
his side hours ago, and been left to lay very close to (and hopefully not in) a
dried-up pool of puke and blood. Each
breath he took in made him wonder if he was smelling overcooked hot dogs, or
some of his smoked skin.
Not surprisingly, he
wasn’t in the mood to smile.
All right. So what have we
learned? He shifted his cheeks a bit
-- still plenty sore. I learned that as pleasant as it might
sound, getting hammered in the face by a pair of enormous swinging breasts is
not something one can enjoy. Force
equals mass times acceleration, after all.
He peered as high as he
could. Sheila had wrapped herself tight,
save for her feet poking off the bed’s edge; if memory served him right, she
hadn’t bothered to put on anything else before hitting the hay. The thought might have tantalized a normal
man (or woman), but somehow Lloyd couldn’t summon up much enthusiasm. I
certainly hope this experience hasn’t made me callous toward the female form, he
thought. A fleeting thought, of course;
what mattered most was that Sheila was asleep -- and his torture, accidental or
not, had come to an end. For the moment,
at least.
Miss O’Leary has proven more than a little troublesome. I’d expected to use the day to make some
progress, but if anything I’ve actually regressed. Even after all this time, I’m no closer to
re-entering the audition room as I was before.
It’s true that I have my own careless comments to thank for that -- I
should have known better than to praise her mother so recklessly in her
presence -- but even then, I would have thought I’d be at least a half-step
closer to making amends and building rapport.
Think carefully, Lloyd. Miss
O’Leary was endeared to you prior to even the basest action. But even after shutting a door of sorts on
her expectations, she still has every intention of…engagement. But
why? What is it about her that I’m
missing here? How, exactly, do I fit
into her plans? Why does she have that
plan to begin with? Why the sore relations with her mother, and
such steadfast belief in her father? And
most of all…
Sheila’s words came bubbling
back to the forefront. I…I did everything she told me to, she
had said. What did I do wrong?
Lloyd’s eyes shifted
around the room. Who is she supposed to
be? A friend? It couldn’t have been her mother, from what
I’ve gathered. But who would tell Miss
O’Leary to resort to internment, seduction, and merriment? Rather poor advice, if you ask me. He took a slow breath. It’s no
wonder I was helpless in her audition room.
It’s as if there’s an entire ocean of information I need to gather
before I can even attempt to help her, let alone succeed.
If this is the pace and the practice I adopt from now on, is this how
things will proceed? Me taking one step
forward and two steps back? Strapped to
a chair while half-naked and singed? He winced. Meanwhile,
Gaston continues his heinous acts unabated -- this, in spite of him having an
undoubtedly-large head start. I need to
move quickly if I’m to create my countermeasure, but… He looked up at Sheila once more. She may
be eccentric, but she’s still a human being.
To use her life so recklessly, and hastily…is it truly something I can
do? Is the line between helping others
and helping myself beginning to blur?
Could it be that merely by daring to challenge Gaston -- and claiming
to do so under good intentions -- I’m even worse than he is?
He didn’t get an
answer, of course. None of the Lloyds
that stared at him could even think of one, much less offer one. He might have had a few comrades to his name,
but in this case -- and even then, well beyond that -- he’d have to sort out
all the issues on his own.
He knew one thing, at
least. Now wasn’t the time for
reflection.
What I need most -- besides someone to free me from this absurd
situation -- is information, Lloyd thought.
If things continue as they have
with Miss O’Leary, it might be her that deals the killing blow instead of
Gaston and his men. In which case, I
need to gather information from the sources available to me. The lady of the house would be the most obvious
choice, but considering how blasé she’s been about this situation I wonder if I
can even reach her.
Wait a minute…reach? Lloyd’s
eyes darted to the corners of the room -- and sure enough, he laid eyes on it:
Sheila’s phone, just a foot away from her bed’s headboard. Of
course! Arjuna!
Lloyd wobbled back and
forth in the chair. Still more than a
little heavy, and maybe a bit more, thanks to his battered body -- but he had
to take a chance. He wobbled, and wobbled,
and wobbled some more; he had a knee and a shoulder to the ground, and the
limbs connected to them, of course. He’d
never escape in his current state, but at the moment he didn’t need to.
He wriggled -- chair,
rope, and all -- across the floor. Slow
going, without question, but he DID manage a bit of motion. He looked as if an army of ants tried to
hoist him back to their base; he dragged himself across rough textures, but
soldiered on with whatever body part he could use (toes included) lending to
his efforts.
And he pushed himself
even further. He rocked a bit, trying to
build up enough force and force of heart.
And then, he went for it -- he hopped.
Maybe an inch, maybe two. Not the
most impressive leap, but it worked. It
got him closer to his goal.
Arjuna seemed to know Miss O’Leary, Lloyd thought, alternating between
dragging and hopping. He knew well enough to warn me of her
peculiarity -- and I’d wager he knows even more. That rod of hers is vaguely reminiscent of
the toothbrush he handled before; given her equipment beforehand I’d think that
Miss O’Leary had herself a handy little arms dealer for quite some time. Or at the very least, an instructor.
He navigated around a
bit of art -- scraping against it and making sculptures wobble, but otherwise
avoiding a crash. Avoiding a noise that
might force Sheila awake…and another round of whimsical brutality. I only
hope that I remember Arjuna’s number. And that he’s awake. And that I can even enter his number. And that I can even turn her phone on. He almost laughed aloud. Somehow
this does not seem like the best stratagem.
In spite of that, he
made it to the phone -- sorer than ever, of course, but he’d still made
it. With his arm and elbow propping him
up, Lloyd pressed his chin down on the screen; to his relief, it lit up without
a hassle. Now then, that just leaves the matter of calling him, he
thought. I pray that my jaw’s key strokes aim noble and true.
They didn’t. They just brought Lloyd to a different screen
-- one without a key pad.
Okay, I deserved that. I was
tempting fate there. I should probably
not do that. But after fumbling a
bit more, he came to a new screen -- one with a list of names and numbers. And one in particular stuck out to him:
Arjuna’s. He would have squealed like a schoolgirl
if not for the circumstances, so he just made do with pressing down on the
president’s name.
The screen
changed. Dialing his number, no
doubt. Lloyd set his face against the
phone, doing his best to ignore the thumping of his heart. Pick
up, Arjuna. Pick up, please. I need your help!
“…Sheila? I-I thought you said I was done.”
“What? No, this is…”
Lloyd snapped his eyes upward.
“This is Lloyd,” he whispered.
“I’m using Miss O’Leary’s phone right now.”
“Wait, Lloyd?
Oh, screw this -- I’m hanging up.”
“No, don’t! I’m in Miss O’Leary’s house right now, and I
need your help! This might be my only
chance to ask for it! I think my life is
in genuine danger here!”
A groan echoed into
Lloyd’s ear. “See? This is exactly what you get. This is exactly what I told you. This is exactly why I warned you she was
dangerous.”
“It was a risk I had to
take.”
“I’m sure it was.” He sighed.
“So what are you doing there?
Getting tied up and held prisoner, and maybe smacked around a little
bit?”
“How did you --?”
“Lucky guess.”
“So you know what Miss
O’Leary was planning, then. If that’s
so, then…” If he had a full range of
motion, Lloyd would have shaken his head…not like Arjuna would have seen it. “Never mind.
Arjuna, I need to learn more about Miss O’Leary. I need details so that I can spark a
meaningful discussion with her. Try and
figure out just what in the world is going through her mind.”
“You actually think you
can sort out her brain? Man, you’re even
crazier than I thought -- and that’s saying something.”
“Can you help me?”
Arjuna hummed to
himself. “I guess I might as well. I’ve been having trouble sleeping, anyway.”
TO BE HEARTINUED…
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