TM Challenge: Longest Day
Friday 13th February 1987
Richards Manor, Midtown, Los Angeles, California
7:03am PST
The sun hasn't risen yet. He wonders if it ever will.
On the outskirts of Midtown, on a hilltop open to the twilit sky, Richards Manor stands tall and empty. Not alone, though, oh no, not now. For in front of the impressive white-stone building, a pair of police cars stand, blue lights still flashing. In front of them, three cops are talking to a tall, dark-haired man in a dressing gown; a man who looks as though his world has ended. Behind them all, on the front steps, a little boy in blue pyjamas sits with his arms around his knees, rocking slightly. The boy in question is Thomas Richards, the twelve-year-old only son of James and Joyce Richards, one of Midtown's most well-known couples. And now... Midtown's latest piece of bad news.
All of this started just a few minutes ago, when Tommy had been awoken by the sound of the doorbell. His parents weren't home - they were out, he knew, on some kind of trip, and his Uncle Felix was looking after him. He'd crept out of his room in time to see Uncle Felix heading down to the front door, and he'd followed, wondering what was going on.
He wished he hadn't followed. Wished he hadn't been there when the door had opened and his whole world had broken into tiny pieces in his hands. If only he'd stayed asleep, he could have had a few more minutes before he finally found out. A few more minutes of thinking everything was still all right.
But it wasn't all right. It wasn't and it never ever would be again.
His parents were dead. He'd heard the policeman say it, but it had been so completely unbelievable that he'd just stared, and eventually tapped the man on the arm and asked him what was really going on. That was when the man had knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder, and said he was sorry.
Sorry? What was there to be sorry about? They'd be home soon.
***
8:14am PST
He's still on the steps. It's so cold. He can feel it, running all the way through him, but only from a distance.
Uncle Felix appears beside him. Settles on the step at his side. Lays a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
"You should come indoors."
"Can't. I'm waiting for them."
"Tommy... they're not coming back. They're gone. It was an accident. A gas main blew on the Midtown Memorial bridge. It was... a terrible accident."
"It wasn't. They'll be home soon."
He's half right. It wasn't an accident.
Beyond the sweeping lawns of the estate, the sun rises, blood-red.
***
10:07am PST
Tommy tightens his arms around his knees, and shivers. He still hasn't moved, and they still haven't come home. The police cars have gone, now, and the driveway stands wide and empty before him.
He's supposed to be at school. He's not there, though. He wonders if anyone will ask where he is. Anyone at all.
Maybe one person.
In the distance, black smoke still hovers over Midtown.
***
12:24pm PST
There are people at the house, now. Quite a few people. They keep arriving, staring at him in surprise, some stopping to speak, some hurrying inside.
Their faces are blank. Or sad. Or both, in a strange way. Sadly blank. Blankly sad. One of those.
Some of them are wearing suits. Some are wearing normal clothes.
Some... look different.
Uncle Felix comes outside for a moment. Puts a hand on his shoulder again.
"It wasn't a gas main," he whispers, very softly. Almost like it's a secret.
Then he's gone again.
Why aren't they home yet?
***
3:04pm PST
The people are all gone again. He wonders what they talked about.
Perhaps they talked about him.
He has to go inside now. He has to. Inside has important things, like proper clothes, a bathroom, a sandwich.
Ten minutes later, he's outside again.
He doesn't want to miss them.
***
6:47pm PST
The sun sets. Night falls. The sky blends from red to purple to black.
The door behind him opens, and Uncle Felix steps outside. For a moment, all is silent... and then he sits at Tommy's side again.
"They're not coming home. I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm so sorry."
He stares up at his uncle, wide eyes tired and sad and suddenly so empty. "They are," he whispers, in a tiny voice. "Of course they are. They always do."
"Not this time. They're gone."
Gone. Gone. How can they be gone? They're his parents. They're always here. How can they be gone?
"...Why did they go?" Why? Why did they leave me?
"It... They didn't choose to. They were killed, Tommy. There was..."
Wide, wide eyes, still staring. Uncle Felix looks so sad.
"...Midtown has some very bad people. Bad people who do bad things. And very early this morning... when your parents were trying to come home... There was a bomb."
"...A bomb? You mean... it was Villains?"
Uncle Felix nods. "Yes."
"Why would Villains want to kill my parents?"
"Because that's what Villains do. It... I guess it's just how things are."
Tommy looks down. He's cold, and he's tired, and his parents aren't coming home.
Ever.
He looks up. Beyond the estate, Midtown glitters, a swathe of tiny lights amidst the darkness of the night. So many people. So many people. It could have been any of them.
But it wasn't. It was his parents. And now he's all alone.
"What do I do now?"
"I'll look after you," Uncle Felix promises him. "That's what James... that's what your Dad wanted."
"But... what about the Villains?"
Perhaps this is not a question he's supposed to ask, because now Uncle Felix... has a very strange look on his face. "There's nothing you can do about them. You... have to let it go."
Tommy shakes his head. "No. No. Never. Maybe I can't do anything now. But one day... one day I will."
And Uncle Felix sighs, though there's a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth. "You're so like your Dad. Now... come inside. It's been a long day."
Oh yes. The longest day of his life. The last day. And the first.
Richards Manor, Midtown, Los Angeles, California
7:03am PST
The sun hasn't risen yet. He wonders if it ever will.
On the outskirts of Midtown, on a hilltop open to the twilit sky, Richards Manor stands tall and empty. Not alone, though, oh no, not now. For in front of the impressive white-stone building, a pair of police cars stand, blue lights still flashing. In front of them, three cops are talking to a tall, dark-haired man in a dressing gown; a man who looks as though his world has ended. Behind them all, on the front steps, a little boy in blue pyjamas sits with his arms around his knees, rocking slightly. The boy in question is Thomas Richards, the twelve-year-old only son of James and Joyce Richards, one of Midtown's most well-known couples. And now... Midtown's latest piece of bad news.
All of this started just a few minutes ago, when Tommy had been awoken by the sound of the doorbell. His parents weren't home - they were out, he knew, on some kind of trip, and his Uncle Felix was looking after him. He'd crept out of his room in time to see Uncle Felix heading down to the front door, and he'd followed, wondering what was going on.
He wished he hadn't followed. Wished he hadn't been there when the door had opened and his whole world had broken into tiny pieces in his hands. If only he'd stayed asleep, he could have had a few more minutes before he finally found out. A few more minutes of thinking everything was still all right.
But it wasn't all right. It wasn't and it never ever would be again.
His parents were dead. He'd heard the policeman say it, but it had been so completely unbelievable that he'd just stared, and eventually tapped the man on the arm and asked him what was really going on. That was when the man had knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder, and said he was sorry.
Sorry? What was there to be sorry about? They'd be home soon.
***
8:14am PST
He's still on the steps. It's so cold. He can feel it, running all the way through him, but only from a distance.
Uncle Felix appears beside him. Settles on the step at his side. Lays a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
"You should come indoors."
"Can't. I'm waiting for them."
"Tommy... they're not coming back. They're gone. It was an accident. A gas main blew on the Midtown Memorial bridge. It was... a terrible accident."
"It wasn't. They'll be home soon."
He's half right. It wasn't an accident.
Beyond the sweeping lawns of the estate, the sun rises, blood-red.
***
10:07am PST
Tommy tightens his arms around his knees, and shivers. He still hasn't moved, and they still haven't come home. The police cars have gone, now, and the driveway stands wide and empty before him.
He's supposed to be at school. He's not there, though. He wonders if anyone will ask where he is. Anyone at all.
Maybe one person.
In the distance, black smoke still hovers over Midtown.
***
12:24pm PST
There are people at the house, now. Quite a few people. They keep arriving, staring at him in surprise, some stopping to speak, some hurrying inside.
Their faces are blank. Or sad. Or both, in a strange way. Sadly blank. Blankly sad. One of those.
Some of them are wearing suits. Some are wearing normal clothes.
Some... look different.
Uncle Felix comes outside for a moment. Puts a hand on his shoulder again.
"It wasn't a gas main," he whispers, very softly. Almost like it's a secret.
Then he's gone again.
Why aren't they home yet?
***
3:04pm PST
The people are all gone again. He wonders what they talked about.
Perhaps they talked about him.
He has to go inside now. He has to. Inside has important things, like proper clothes, a bathroom, a sandwich.
Ten minutes later, he's outside again.
He doesn't want to miss them.
***
6:47pm PST
The sun sets. Night falls. The sky blends from red to purple to black.
The door behind him opens, and Uncle Felix steps outside. For a moment, all is silent... and then he sits at Tommy's side again.
"They're not coming home. I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm so sorry."
He stares up at his uncle, wide eyes tired and sad and suddenly so empty. "They are," he whispers, in a tiny voice. "Of course they are. They always do."
"Not this time. They're gone."
Gone. Gone. How can they be gone? They're his parents. They're always here. How can they be gone?
"...Why did they go?" Why? Why did they leave me?
"It... They didn't choose to. They were killed, Tommy. There was..."
Wide, wide eyes, still staring. Uncle Felix looks so sad.
"...Midtown has some very bad people. Bad people who do bad things. And very early this morning... when your parents were trying to come home... There was a bomb."
"...A bomb? You mean... it was Villains?"
Uncle Felix nods. "Yes."
"Why would Villains want to kill my parents?"
"Because that's what Villains do. It... I guess it's just how things are."
Tommy looks down. He's cold, and he's tired, and his parents aren't coming home.
Ever.
He looks up. Beyond the estate, Midtown glitters, a swathe of tiny lights amidst the darkness of the night. So many people. So many people. It could have been any of them.
But it wasn't. It was his parents. And now he's all alone.
"What do I do now?"
"I'll look after you," Uncle Felix promises him. "That's what James... that's what your Dad wanted."
"But... what about the Villains?"
Perhaps this is not a question he's supposed to ask, because now Uncle Felix... has a very strange look on his face. "There's nothing you can do about them. You... have to let it go."
Tommy shakes his head. "No. No. Never. Maybe I can't do anything now. But one day... one day I will."
And Uncle Felix sighs, though there's a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth. "You're so like your Dad. Now... come inside. It's been a long day."
Oh yes. The longest day of his life. The last day. And the first.