Scene Twelve

Lonnie walked into the scene slowly, hands above her head. Standing in a triangular formation she found her husband, the older gentleman from the restaurant, Mr. Rogers and a tall man pointing a gun somewhat nervously in her direction.

“I told you,” Bernie said as she approached. “Bad things happen if you got up early on a weekend.”

“Let's cool the zippy dialog, clown-hater,” the tall man said. He pointed the gun at Bernie.

Bernie shut up as told, at least until a sudden realization appeared upon his face. “Hey, I recognize your voice now. You're that thing from last night?”

“Oh yeah,” the brutish man said. “Somewhat familiar is it?”

Bernie said, snapping his fingers. “Turd-O? Turd-face?”

The tall man sighed and waved his gun around dramatically. “It's not “turd” anything. It's Mark-O. You know, as in Marksmen. You seem to be acting a little cavalier towards someone who could put a bullet in you at any moment.”

“My husband,” Lonnie interjected, “tends to act stupid when he’s nervous.”

“Plus, that gun is probably just one that shoots out a flag that says “Bang!”

“Never mind that. Don's here and now we can get this show underway.”

“What's this about, Jackson?” Mr. Rogers asked, somberly.

“Well, Rogers,” Bernie began. “Apparently these fine gentlemen think there's a hole buried here. Do with that information what you will.”

Donald forced Lonnie, Rogers and Bernie to stand in line where he could see them. He then told everyone to "clam up" and to make no "sudden moves".

“You know, Melody's going to really rub this in our faces,” Lonnie told her husband out of the side of her face. “She was sure you were kidnapped this morning.”

“That reminds me,” said Donald. “Where is the star of our show?”


Melody skulked around the back basement window of Lieutenant Shinally's War room. She bent over, holding her hair back so it didn't fall into her eyes and whispered loudly, “Hey you.” It wasn't until this moment that she realized she didn't really know the boy's name, other than his surname and rank.

There was no response. The window was black. No one appeared home.

“Maybe he's still asleep after prowling the neighborhood all night?” She looked around the house for a window with a toy tank on the sill, unsure otherwise how a military-obsessed preteen boy might decorate his room. Maybe he didn't at all. Perhaps such adornments were reserved only for Generals and civilians. Perhaps a lowly Lieutenant had to keep a tight ship for the respect of his men.

“Where's your barracks, Shinally?”

In the end, Melody decided she had no time to waste and instead chose a more direct route. She turned on her heel and headed for the front yard. Stepping up to the porch she boldly rang the doorbell, her heart beating so loudly from nervousness that she feared it would escape -- knocking boldly on doors wasn’t something she was known for. However, there was a bunch of scary afoot, enough of it to override her more normal social anxiety. She knocked again. Melody realized this was likely an extreme breach of protocol, but she felt her father’s capture by a hole-obsessed group of vigilantes was a pretty good excuse.

Besides, she wasn’t really in the military no matter what they called her. But then, of course, she supposed, neither were they.

There was shuffling behind the door and then a loud thump as if something large had knocked over a piece of furniture. The door then opened after some fumbling with the doorknob, and Melody held her breath in anticipation. She wasn't exactly keen on making direct contact with people, especially people she didn't know very well.

A woman in a rumpled sun dress appeared behind the glass screen door. She was holding a drink in one hand, and hiccuped at Melody before she greeted her.

“I need to talk to your son,” she said, hurriedly. “It's an urgent...erm, business matter.”

The woman at first appeared confused, and then she laughed to herself – tittered might be a better word for it. “My son?” She took a drink from her glass and then nearly choked on the contents while at the same time pointing at Melody in sudden recognition. “Oh, you mean Tommy.” She laughed again, but indignantly, if such a laugh could be described. “Oh, no, darling. He's not my son. I'm much too young to have a child his age. That's Greg's boy.”

Melody shuddered to herself. The woman was obviously intoxicated, and probably an alcoholic. At the moment, however, she didn't have time to pass judgments, this woman was wasting her time.

“Regardless,” Melody said urgently. “I need to talk to him.”

“Is this about those war games he's always playing?'

“Yes,” Melody said, becoming more annoyed by the second.

The woman rolled her eyes, and took a step back. “Okay,” she said, seemingly having grown tired of this conversation. “I'm pretty sure he stepped out early this morning, but you're welcome to come in and look around in his little bunker room if you'd like.”

While the prospect of taking a peek behind the curtain very much appealed to Melody, being trapped in a house with this woman did not. She really felt for Tommy, and could see why he would want to spend much of his time away.

“That's okay,” Melody told her. “I'll catch up with him later.”

The woman simply shrugged and without saying another word, slowly closed the door.

Melody turned around and surveyed the neighborhood. It was quiet. Horror films would dictate, too quiet. She vaguely knew where the other two boys lived, which was odd to think because of how small this block was. The boys did a fairly good job of keeping their lives and origination points secret. She was somewhat certain, however, that one of them lived at the end of the block in the ranch house on the corner. She turned in that direction, but was suddenly stopped by a small girl, blocking her path.

“They took them,” she said. Her eyes were red as though she had been crying. Her face and clothes were dirty and her blouse was torn as though she might have been scrabbling through blackberries.

Melody shook her head. “Who,” she asked, “took whom?” She was only slightly familiar with this girl. She had seen her out in front of of these houses, playing on the sidewalk, and assumed she was the sister of one of the boys. However, the name eluded her.

“The men in black suits,” the girl answered. “The men in the big black car.”

Melody smirked. Was this a game, she wondered. Or did Men in Black really come to abduct the boys? Melody leaned closer to the girl. “What's your name?' she asked her.

The girl didn't respond at first. Finally, as though in anticipation of an unasked question, she said. “It was because of Tim.”

"Tim?” Melody turned her head to the side. She had never heard this name before. Another Lafayette street mystery.

The girl turned and walked away humming to herself.

Melody sighed. “The kids, present company excluded of course, are really strange on this block,” she said to herself.

It Happened on Lafayette Street

Season One: Episode Four

Melody Jackson

vs. The Creeping Terror

by BMB Johnson

Scene Twelve

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