Jeremy's Secret

“But my brother already has his car…it’s in the parking lot,” the kid said, as I prodded him for his brother’s whereabouts. His name was Jeremy - no, not the kid, the brother – and he had taken something which had belonged to me for a very long time. “Kid’s got no sense,” my partner remarked and then continued, “Ha, he probably couldn’t tell his left foot from his right, am I right, boss?” I responded with a gaze, and he quickly shut his trap. I looked down at the kid again and spoke, “And you’re sure that your brother is still somewhere in this school?” The effects of my partner’s lack of compassion seemed to linger in the poor little piece of shit as he looked at the floor to try and hide his shame, but the tears that slowly ran down his face betrayed him and within seconds of my query, the tile on the floor released the sound of a splash, and resonated down the empty hallway for anyone to hear.

I spoke again, “Listen to me, boy; if you answer my question, then I will not bother you anymore.” I paused to think of something a little more intimidating and then raised my voice so that any eavesdropper could clearly hear, “Look at me! Look at me in the eye, boy!” The boy reluctantly looked up, and when his eyes met mine I immediately spoke again, only this time, in a softer, more nurturing tone, “It was a long time ago, boy, that I became the gentlemen by which you see in front of you today, do you understand?” The boy nodded and said nothing. “Would you like to hear a story, boy?” I said, reiterating my usage of the word, ‘boy’, so as to allow the child to recognize his significance to myself. The child nodded, dropped a few more tears and then wiped his nose while sniffling, as though to show the new-found integrity of his far-fetched version of manhood; he said nothing.

“When I was a boy, like yourself, do you know what happened to me?” I said to the boy in a dark and somber tone, and he, not sure what to do, simply shrugged. I wanted the boy’s full attention, so I prefaced him with something which a child could only imagine as foretelling some unforeseeable horror; one that could scare the wits out of his most admired hero; so I took off my sunglasses, pulled out my artificial eye, and presented it to him. “Do I look like a man which whom you would want to trifle with, boy?” I said, surrounding him with my gaze. The child went white, and his sense of manhood fled with his color as the tile began to pour with the sounds of his shame. I aimed not to tell any story, for a child can prepare for that; I wanted to catch the boy off-guard and force the child to imagine his own demise – for, to a child, imagination is more important than knowledge*; the story is irrelevant…all that matters is the ending.

The boy tried to scream in fright, so I slapped him hard in the face; the impact of which sent him crashing into the lockers behind him, hitting his nose on a rusty combination lock with such force that when I picked him up by the hair on his head, the sound resonating from the floor became a little different. The boy was trembling, crying, bleeding, and miraculously - as though God were ordaining my actions with particular favor – he was quiet; I now had his full attention. “Where is your brother?” I asked with a hasty (but serious) tone. The boy sniffled, and said, “He’s in Biology, room 124.” His worth dwindled, so I sent him on his way with a threat, “Speak of this conversation to anyone, boy, and the next time I speak with you it will be your eye that I hold in my hand. Do you understand?” The boy nodded, and ran off. Putting my eye back in its socket, I re-donned my sunglasses and ran in search of room 124. “Get the car, and meet me out front,” I barked to my subordinate; an order which he began to follow with great fervor.

On my way toward the room, a faculty member who had heard the sounds of the previous conversation stopped me, “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Within seconds I had my pistol aimed at his head, and the floor again began to resonate with a sound, this time however, it was again different than what I had heard previously. “Trust me, old timer, I have no time to waste by talking to the likes of you. You move or speak again over the course of the next twenty minutes and I will kill you.” The old man immediately laid prone, capitulating to my will.

Room 124 was marked with a Biology tag. I stormed in, much to the classroom’s surprise. My pistol was still out and the adolescents shrieked. The teacher went for his phone after absorbing the situation for a few seconds, so I shot him in the temple - more shrieking ensued. I saw my target, “JEREMY!” I screamed, then continued, “With me, NOW!” The shaken teenager conceded to my demands, and so I led him to the front of the school; my pistol constantly in contact with his spine. No words were exchanged and I led him into the backseat of the car, never once blinking him from my sight. I signaled my subordinate to drive and spoke, “My wife, Jeremy. Where have you taken my wife?” Scared out of his wits, he couldn’t respond, so with extreme sincerity I asked him another question, “Would you like to hear a story, boy?” Jeremy’s face turned white, and the sound of the blinker in the front seat ceased as we turned out of the school parking lot.

*Quote from Albert Eintstein