Revelation

(07) Mr. Fergy

"Pardon?" I asked, my heart beating quickly, although I had stopped breathing out of fear.

"Sorry, I was talking to you. I'm on the phone." He put his fingers up to his ear, and turned away, muttered some cuss words. After a couple minutes, he turned to face me again. His sneer turned to a smile.

"Good! It's only your first day and your already working hard. Very impressive." I breathed in again, and my heart rate decreased to a normal state. He stuck out his hand, and I went to shake it, when a sharp discomfort struck my shoulder. He knows me grit my teeth in agony, and put his hand on my shoulder, pulling down the collar to discover my bullet wound, all wrapped up.

"Where the hell did you get this? What happened?" His eyes turned into a fiery hatred. Not for me, but for who shot me.

"While I was out testing the, uh... the Compound 36 Area, I was, um...walking down the street and was shot...by a man! But I was able to find a... a person that would help me... and they bandaged the wound up." He squinted his eyes, and then turned his gaze passed me, and waved at someone. Six armed soldiers came running up, each men as built as the last. Mr. Trembath made a movement with his hands, and they cocked their guns.

"Let's go, Mr. Orsky. You're going to show me who shot you."

***

"I'd like to report a kid on drugs," His voice trailed off as he rubbed his eyes. My father still stood by phone, and I turned my head to look out the window. Jadon was lying on the sidewalk, and across the street, Mr. Fergy, our neighbour, read a book. I heard a loud, muffled-sounding squeal, and my father's head quickly adjusted to look towards the window. He saw my brother struggling, and opened the door, yelling,

"Shut up, you're lucky I don't kill you!" My father slammed the door shut. I continued to watch the outside world, and saw Mr. Fergy put his book down. He quietly dashed across the road, and began helping my brother up to his feet. He looked at me, flashed me a smile, then took out a small knife, ready to cut the rope.

That's when I heard the door open.

"Mr. Fergy, what in hell's name are you doing?" My father asked, and I saw Mr. Fergy drop his pocket knife, standing up as tall as 70-something-year-old could possibly stand.

"I've seen you torture this young boy for years, for gosh sakes, he's 13-years-old! I've lived a awful life, I lost my wife to a terrorist attack, and I never had children because of that! But if I had children, and still had my wife, I'd be loving them, not torturing them. You treat these kids like shit and you need to stop it because I swear, if I hear Marissa's screams one more time, I'll walk into your house and beat you up my damn self!" Marissa. I always forget my mother's name. My father had a strange look in his eyes, a emotion I hadn't seen in a while from him.

Fear.

Sirens blared, and Mr. Fergy backed away from Jadon. He held up his middle finger to my father, then yelled out,

"Looks like the police are finally here for you," The cop car rolled up, but instead of going for my father, they picked up my brother. His body went limp and they lay him in the back of the car. Mr. Fergy's facial expression morphed from smug to horrified. After the car left, my father finally replied,

"Mr. Fergy, I will always win, and you will die alone. You will die because of an Orsky because you could've helped, but you chose to fuck with the wrong people."

***

The six army men set a tremendously fast pace as we walked down the streets of New York. After reaching my neighbourhood, I decided to stall by pretending to recall the attack on me, but in a way that made it seem like I could barely remember.