Sequel: Silence of a Love Bat ›
Cries of a Love Bat
The Only Thing Weird About Him In The Picture Was His Eyeliner
“How does this look Hemingway?” I asked, spinning around before looking back into Pete’s full-length mirror. Andy’s shirt, Joe’s zip up hoodie, Pete’s jeans and Patrick’s ‘I Love Bingo’ hat all went together well.
Hemingway was staring at me, and even for a dog I could tell he was bored. But it wasn’t my fault, not at all.
I walked downstairs and he followed lazily, as I made my way into the kitchen. I poured water in his bowl and sat down on a bar stool, watching him. I was bored as well.
“You think there is a place that’s open so we can order a pizza?” I sighed, looking at Hemingway, then to the clock.
Eight forty-five.
He walked into the living room and left me there, alone; something that wasn’t looking fun at the moment.
“Why is that when they’re home they annoy the shit out of me, but when they’re not here I miss them?” I mumbled standing up and heading to the basement door.
Hemingway didn’t do anything, not that I expected him to.
“I’m going into the basement to look for a phone book,” I said to no one in particular.
I guess I was hoping Patrick would run in and tell me off. He would yell at me for even thinking of going down there and then start his speech about how it’s off limits. Right now even that seemed better than this.
“I bet the phone book is down here. It has to be!” I said walking down the stairs. “It’s no where else in this house…knowing Patrick he probably uses it as a stepping stool.”
Yes, I had to admit, talking to myself out loud was something I never do. Though I was giving myself a free pass, seeing that it was eight forty-five in the morning and the boys had not returned home from there hunt.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs I was surprised to see that it was smaller than I had expected. A couch was pushed up against the far wall, with four boxes of clothes next to it: jeans, hats, socks and underwear, and shirts. On the opposite side of the room there were mirrors lined against the wall and two targets propped up on stools. A few feet away was a desk that was cluttered with papers and machine parts. And opposite the desk was a workbench with tools and bottles filled with different colored liquids, most being a dark shade of red.
I walked over to the workbench and picked up one of the vials. It contained musky orange water, with a label on it saying, “Sun Poison”. I was going to open it when I heard a crash coming from upstairs.
“Guys?” I asked hopefully, running into the kitchen.
Hemingway looked up at me from the mess he was standing in. The food bowl was overturned and dog food covered the floor.
I sighed and walked to a draw and pulled out his leash. “Let’s go do something. I think a stop to the pet shop would be appropriate.”
Walking out into bright sunlight was probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do in weeks. It glared down at me with such force that I felt like turning around and going back inside the house, but I needed some fresh air.
The first thing we did was stop at a diner and order pancakes to go, because no pizza place was open this early. After eating them on the front steps we just walked around until about noon, when we finally headed in the direction of the pet shop.
When we went inside a little bell chimed and a worker greeted us. She stopped stocking shelves and came to say hello.
“Hi! What can I get for you today?”
“How about the best dog food, like what most people buy,” I suggested.
“New owner?” she asked as I followed her to the back. Hemingway was allowed to wander.
“It’s my friends dog, I’m just watching him I suppose.”
The lady nodded and grabbed a bag, handing it to me and showed me to the register in the back. Another worker greeted me.
He smiled, “That all?”
“Uh-yeah, that’s it.”
As he was ringing it up he started talking with the other worker. “Kim did you hear about the accident last night?”
“Yeah, those four boys who light the warehouse on fire, the one by the woods.”
“I heard the cops got one of them. He keeps refusing that he did it but he was on the site.”
This grabbed my attention and I couldn’t help but be noisy. “Four boys?”
“That’s what it said on the news. One was caught and the other three have yet to be found. He’s waiting for bail money now,” the guy said.
“Was he a creepy one, with those long beards and lumberjack clothes?” I asked.
“No, no. The only thing weird about him in the picture was his eyeliner.”
The guy handed me the bag and wished me a good day.
Good day my ass.
When I found Hemingway I stopped back home and left him there, grabbing Patrick’s checkbook and headed to the police station.
Hemingway was staring at me, and even for a dog I could tell he was bored. But it wasn’t my fault, not at all.
I walked downstairs and he followed lazily, as I made my way into the kitchen. I poured water in his bowl and sat down on a bar stool, watching him. I was bored as well.
“You think there is a place that’s open so we can order a pizza?” I sighed, looking at Hemingway, then to the clock.
Eight forty-five.
He walked into the living room and left me there, alone; something that wasn’t looking fun at the moment.
“Why is that when they’re home they annoy the shit out of me, but when they’re not here I miss them?” I mumbled standing up and heading to the basement door.
Hemingway didn’t do anything, not that I expected him to.
“I’m going into the basement to look for a phone book,” I said to no one in particular.
I guess I was hoping Patrick would run in and tell me off. He would yell at me for even thinking of going down there and then start his speech about how it’s off limits. Right now even that seemed better than this.
“I bet the phone book is down here. It has to be!” I said walking down the stairs. “It’s no where else in this house…knowing Patrick he probably uses it as a stepping stool.”
Yes, I had to admit, talking to myself out loud was something I never do. Though I was giving myself a free pass, seeing that it was eight forty-five in the morning and the boys had not returned home from there hunt.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs I was surprised to see that it was smaller than I had expected. A couch was pushed up against the far wall, with four boxes of clothes next to it: jeans, hats, socks and underwear, and shirts. On the opposite side of the room there were mirrors lined against the wall and two targets propped up on stools. A few feet away was a desk that was cluttered with papers and machine parts. And opposite the desk was a workbench with tools and bottles filled with different colored liquids, most being a dark shade of red.
I walked over to the workbench and picked up one of the vials. It contained musky orange water, with a label on it saying, “Sun Poison”. I was going to open it when I heard a crash coming from upstairs.
“Guys?” I asked hopefully, running into the kitchen.
Hemingway looked up at me from the mess he was standing in. The food bowl was overturned and dog food covered the floor.
I sighed and walked to a draw and pulled out his leash. “Let’s go do something. I think a stop to the pet shop would be appropriate.”
Walking out into bright sunlight was probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do in weeks. It glared down at me with such force that I felt like turning around and going back inside the house, but I needed some fresh air.
The first thing we did was stop at a diner and order pancakes to go, because no pizza place was open this early. After eating them on the front steps we just walked around until about noon, when we finally headed in the direction of the pet shop.
When we went inside a little bell chimed and a worker greeted us. She stopped stocking shelves and came to say hello.
“Hi! What can I get for you today?”
“How about the best dog food, like what most people buy,” I suggested.
“New owner?” she asked as I followed her to the back. Hemingway was allowed to wander.
“It’s my friends dog, I’m just watching him I suppose.”
The lady nodded and grabbed a bag, handing it to me and showed me to the register in the back. Another worker greeted me.
He smiled, “That all?”
“Uh-yeah, that’s it.”
As he was ringing it up he started talking with the other worker. “Kim did you hear about the accident last night?”
“Yeah, those four boys who light the warehouse on fire, the one by the woods.”
“I heard the cops got one of them. He keeps refusing that he did it but he was on the site.”
This grabbed my attention and I couldn’t help but be noisy. “Four boys?”
“That’s what it said on the news. One was caught and the other three have yet to be found. He’s waiting for bail money now,” the guy said.
“Was he a creepy one, with those long beards and lumberjack clothes?” I asked.
“No, no. The only thing weird about him in the picture was his eyeliner.”
The guy handed me the bag and wished me a good day.
Good day my ass.
When I found Hemingway I stopped back home and left him there, grabbing Patrick’s checkbook and headed to the police station.
♠ ♠ ♠
Yeah so I told you this idea was bad. But now you are all probably wondering who is in jail, huh? Ideas please!And the medals go to:
WhatTomorrowsFriday
shortygirl
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I hope you all have a Happy New Year, and I'll see you next update :)
p.s. - I'm running out of quotes to put in the chapter descriptions. If you have some funny ones please tell me, I'd love to read them, and possibly use them...