Since many of you have requested that I further this story, I’m going to give it a try. I will add to it in installments, until it ends or we all get tired of it. Here we go, and thank you all for encouraging me!
(Continued from the post “Leave it in Beaver”)
June’s apron is a little messy now, but that’s alright she won’t be needing it anymore. No more chopping or cooking, vacuuming or washing clothes. She won’t have any more reason to be mad at me for tracking dirt into the house from the garden; or for watching mean tv shows like CSI and Hill Street Blues. She wants to watch baby shows like Gilligan’s Island and Lost in Space reruns over and over while she eats chocolates one by one from the box. She always offers me one, but I know her game, she’ll snatch it away at the last second and laugh while she pops it into her mouth.
Geoffrey pulled up to the house and parked by the back door. He looked in the mirror and checked his part, smoothing his hair down with a small comb. He stepped out of the car, hitching up his too short pants as he did so. The wood framed screen door twanged as he opened it and went into the house.
“Mama?” He called, stepping into the kitchen. “Mama?” He went through the kitchen and poked his head into the living room. Is she here? He thought back a minute, yes, her car was in the garage, the door left open. She’s here somewhere.
“MAMA!” Geoffrey screamed when he saw her legs, splayed in the foyer. “Mama!“ He ran forward, falling to his knees and almost sliding the last few feet into her. He stopped himself before he hit the blood, his mouth open in one long continuous howl. He reached for her but kept snatching his hands back. Unable to bring himself to touch the blood, he could not make contact. “Help, help her please!” He cried to the air, to the house, to his own weak self.
Geoffrey scrambled backward and quick-crawled down the hallway to the phone. The 911 dispatcher would later swear that she had talked to a child.
“911, what is your emergency?”
A continuous whining and crying.
“This is 911,” the operator repeated, “what is your emergency please?”
“Mama,” more crying, “blood on the floor and she won’t like blood on the floor…”
“Is your mother hurt?” The dispatcher asked. “Is she bleeding?”
Geoffrey looked bleakly back into the hallway and shook his head, while big fat tears rolled down his face.
“Lots of blood. She’s hurt! She needs help please, please?” Geoffrey babbled into the phone.
“Is she conscious?” The dispatcher asked. “Can she talk?”
“N-no, I don’t think so,” Geoffrey answered. “There‘s a knife.”
“Alright is anyone else there with you? A grownup? Anyone?” The dispatcher asked.
“What’s your name son?” The dispatcher asked.
“Geoffrey, the police are on their way. I want you to just stay there, okay? Can you do that? You need to stay there and let the police in when they come. Are you sure there‘s no one else there?”
“N-no. I mean yes. Are they going to help my Mama?”
“They’re going to try Geoffrey. They’re going to try.” The dispatcher replied. Suddenly the dispatcher heard a noise on the other end of the phone. A deeper man’s voice came clearly over the line.
“Geoffrey! What have you done?”
Click. The line went dead.