[Source: krysspythots - Sep 18th, 2009 4:28am]
(Note: amateur writer, just as a hobby, not as a pro)
Sirens blare, flashing white and blue. Parked bumper-to-bumper, police and hospital hands run in and out of the foresaken house of Olympus Avenue.
Few bystanders come and go; an indication of insignificance to this place. A stretcher exits the shambled house carrying a lifeless body, silhouetted with a thin white cover to hide the secret shames of the corpse where a limp ivory hand hung loosely over. Following the exeunt, a blood-curdled scream of a young boy echoes out of the house.
************************************************************
"A sight to see, huh, detective?" The Sergeant asked bluntly, biting into an apple. He strides into the house, taking no notice of the dirt and grime of the ancient household. Following him silently was Detective Tavelli, ignoring the Sergeant's question as a blast of horrific images and smells hit him like a stench-filled gust of wind.
"How... Could this happen?"
He read the files, bland in detail, identifying the scene and the assumptions of the causes of this "incident." But the reality of the rotting food covered floors and the odors of piled waste and decay knocked Tavelli off his feet, leaving him in a state of shock.
"All this because of a little boy?"
"Don't know, Detective." sighed the Sergeant, wiping the apple juice from his fingers. "Can't get anythin' out of the tyke. That's why we sent for you."
He then pointed to a small figure, squatting in the corner of the house with authorities creating a border around him, like uniformed vultures waiting for the right moment to swoop him up.
"Has he been there this whole ti-?"
"LEAVE US ALONE" The boy screams out, thrashing his arms and legs hoping to clip one of them. Tavelli slowly approaches him, hesitating when the stench of faeces and grime accumulated with every step.
"What's your name, son?" Tavelli asks, trying to control his gag reflex. "Tell me, I won't harm you."
The boy stops, slowly pulling his limbs back to his torso, hugging his legs with his arms. "But they will..."
He gestures towards the surrounding social workers and policemen. If they took any offense, they did not show any sign. Tavelli looked at the group and nodded a dismissal. While they retreated, Tavelli turned back to the boy.
"They're not going to harm you. See, they're gone. Now about your name..."
"Simon." Replied the boy blankly.
Tavelli nodded. Yes, just as the papers shown. He's studied the personal details of the boy as procedure and he seemed like an average seven year old. Too innocent to be the accused.
"Why are you here, Simon?"
"This is our home. Mine and Mummy's home..." He slowly lifted his head, showing signs of trust.
"And it is a lovely home," Tavelli said, adding another white lie to his conscience. "But I bet the house looked even lovelier when it was... cleaner?"
"What's it to you!" muffled Simon stubbornly, as he pulled himself back into his fort of limbs and skin.
"Doesn't your mother know how to clean?" Tavelli inched closer to Simon. As he was approaching him, he saw the malnourished body of the boy covered by patches of dirt and grime. The clothes on his back flimsy and worn out.
What on earth happened here?
"Mummy's sick. I'm taking care of her and it's not that bad. Mummy's not complaining."
Simon didn't budge. His sweet voice never breaking, he seemed to be telling the truth. But Tavelli was not sure.
Simon talks as if his mother is still alive?
A tap on the back pulled Tavelli back from his train of thought and tilted his head to hear what the stranger wanted.
"Do you have anything important to say?"
"Yes, sir. I'm from the autopsy crew." The feminine voice replied. "I urge you not to get in full contact with the boy. He may be sick."
"What do you mean?" Tavelli asked, turning more to the autopsy member. "Did the mother have some kind of infectious disease?"
Tavelli's body stiffened up. His head whirling, he slowly looked back at Simon and crouched right in front of him.
He asked in a hard voice.
"Simon... How long have you been here?"
"All my life. Just me and Mummy."
"And how long has Mum been sick, Simon?"
Simon started curling tighter into a ball and his voice turned frail. "She was always coughing... Big scary coughs then one day they finally stopped so she went to sleep and..."
"She stopped breathing...?"
This triggered something inside of Simon. He started shaking violently.
"She's not dead... She's not dead... SHE'S NOT DEAD!"
In a flash, Simon leapt out towards Tavelli like lion pinning down his victim, his sky blue eyes glaring at the startled detective. Tavelli felt as if he was seeing Simon's corrupted, lonely soul through those hating eyes.
"GIVE ME BACK MY MUMMY! YOU CAN NEVER TAKE HERE AWAY FROM ME!"
Simon shook him, thrashed Tavelli with all his power. His small limbs and muscles letting out such power fuelled by hate and desperateness that his punches felt they went right through to Tavelli's heart. The detective was paralysed, he couldn't move or react to Simon's actions. Those eyes... It showed all of Simon's turmoil and utter loneliness. The eyes of a child, witnessed something no being should ever see.
This child experiencing such horror that it lead to a final desperate attempt of insanity.
Policemen, including the Sergeant, ran to Tavelli's aide and lifted the crazed child off and carried him towards the door. Simon screamed, writhing in their grasp as if their touch burnt his flesh and desperately tried to grasp on to the walls and doorframes of the house.
"NO! NO! I DON'T WANT TO GO!"
With one last attempt in staying in the house, his body went limp, an act of surrender and accepting the inevitable. Tavelli followed and watched the boy being tossed into the squad car. Simon looked up one last time with tears flowing down his face and after a few moments, he and the car were gone.
************************************************************
Back in his dank, musty office, Tavelli sat on his brown suede seat contemplating. With his arms on top of his file-cluttered desk, he was alone with his thoughts; putting together all the pieces of this tragedy, solving the puzzle and shuddered in disgust and pity.
Like a loyal son, Simon stayed with his mother and clung onto her cold corpse; desperately trying to feel her warmth again; to still feel loved and looked after. Could he feel the same affection when he felt the cold touch of his dead mother? What went through his mind when her skin turned a pale blue? Did it cost that much to stay in his mother's arms?
Tavelli will never know. He stood up and looked down once more to the open case file of Simon. With one last glance at this corrupted file, he closed it slowly. Step by step, he moved towards his office door.
He didn't want to know at all.
