The Danger ABC's

Chapter 4: Life is Strange

Despite being completely exhausted, Call managed to get a decent amount of work done. Work seemed to dominate Call's life, schoolwork, homework... other work. But Call was so close to finishing high school. Then, it would just be a matter of time before he could get a job. Once he got back his dad's shop, everything would be good. His father would be better, his father would be normal again. Call drifted into a half-asleep haze, barely acknowledging the thoughts in his head.

Then again, he and his father had never really had a normal relationship. Some days, his father hadn't even left the couch, a bottle in his hand, the knuckles gripping the neck white and shaking, the lips muttering one name over and over, eyes glued to the kitchen sink piled high with dirty dishes. Those days got far more frequent as time went on. Some days, however, his dad would show him how the engine worked, the different tools, how to fix up anything from a car to a music box. His father's hands were magic, and Call still had some little clockwork figures his father had made for him as a child. Those days got farther and farther apart, until one day, they stopped altogether.

His father went to the doctor, once. He got some medication, and at first Call thought things could finally go back to the way they were before, he could stop going to the food bank on Thursdays and lying to the manager about where his father was. But it only made things worse. He kept drinking, and he just got angrier. He never hit Call, not once. But the day he got close, Call knew he had to do something. So Callum Hunt, at 14 years, struck out on his own and shakily grabbed a knife from the kitchen. He wasn't smart, not back then. He didn't go far from home, he lurked in alleys, and he wasn't prepared to run. The first time he got money, it seemed like so much. But then Call learned about the unpaid bills and the piled eviction notices. He tried to keep the garage afloat, but it was too much. He couldn't watch his dad and get enough money, and the school was starting to get suspicious of all Call's absences. His few friends drifted away, one by one, until all that was left was a pile of debt.

One night, Call got too close. It was impulse, more than anything. He had a phone, he was going to call the cops. Call would have lost everything. He wanted to close his eyes and forget. But Call couldn't seem to scrub that night from his mind. After that, he rented out the garage. It wasn't a lot, and he was pretty sure what he was doing was illegal, but it paid the rent and part of the clinic bill. He visited, at first. Then, Call realized how little 400 dollars was, and he suddenly had a lot less time on his schedule.

Call groaned and chugged down a cup of coffee. He was fine, he thought to himself. He was so, so close to tying up all the loose ends. What was it that he said? 50k? 70? That could cover everything until Call finished high school. One night, one broken rule, and it would fix all his problems. Besides, it wasn't like he really had a choice. Whoever this guy was, he was a professional. Call looked at the cracked screen of his watch, and then remembered the batteries were dead. He looked at the clock on the wall, then mentally added 2 hours onto the time. Shit. It was gonna be close. Then he realized that he could do the thing he'd wanted to do for ages.

Call entered the Walmart with a smile on his face. Which was unusual, considering Call rarely smiled. He got a cart and half-rolled down the aisle, grabbing not one, but two sticks of deodorant. A black backpack, some high top sneakers, and finally... Call stopped and stared in awe at the colossal wonder before him. Call had been staring at this thing for weeks, wishing he could afford it. But now, he realized, he could. Call hefted a dark blue bike off of the rack and rolled it to the beverage aisle, where Call bought 5 bags of instant coffee. He felt unstoppable. By the time Call cart-rolled into the checkout with his mighty steed resting atop his cart, the cart was completely full and Call was wondering how the hell he was going to get all of this stuff back to his house. The cashier raised a single eyebrow in a Rufus-like fashion, and Call dumped a roll of assorted bills on the counter with a satisfying thwack.

Call rolled the cart out of the sliding doors and deliberated for a moment. On the one hand, if he stole the cart, in broad daylight, he would probably get yelled at by some random stranger. On the other hand, Call didn't really care all that much. Call was almost out of the parking lot and calculating the time it would take him to get home and then bike to school when a loud, commanding voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Hey you!" Call turned his head to see a girl that could have been the cover off of a vintage fashion magazine. Why this surprisingly accurate representation of early 19th century culture was running towards him at an alarming rate, he had no idea. Until he realized he was kind of, sort of, a little, stealing a shopping cart from a Walmart in the early-ish hours of the morning. Call promptly ignored the girl, and continued rolling away from the Walmart and all of its strange customers. He couldn't avoid this girl, however, because she stopped the cart dead in its tracks with a surprising amount of force considering the heels on her shoes. Most people would mind their own business and let a perfectly ordinary teenage boy roll away with a shopping cart full of random household items. This maniac, however, was so determined to stop any semblance of Call's happiness that she stopped his one chance at escaping human interaction.

"What." Call said bluntly, more than a little annoyed.

"You're stealing." she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I've got my receipt right here." Call said, hoping she'd take the hint and go away.

"That doesn't give you license to take the cart!" She protested.

"Do you like coffee?" Call said, resorting to extremes.

"Well, yes, but what does that have to do with..." her train of thought derailed as Call painfully held out one of his five coffee boxes.

"Look, I don't know your name-"

"Forza."

"Or why in god's name your eyes are purple-"

"They're lavender. And none of your business."

"Or why you're so intent on stopping my cart-"

"It's stealing." Call sighed and put the coffee back in the cart wearily.

"Look. I don't know you, you don't know me. I'm going to return this cart as soon as I get my stuff out of it and into my house. I'm not going to prove it, because I can't. I don't want to start out the week by being late for school, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be late from some girl-"

"Forza."

"Fine. 'Forza'. Can you let me go, so I can law-abidingly ride this shopping cart home?"

"Fine. But only if you promise to return the cart."

"Yeah, sure."

"Say it!"

"Ok, ok, I promise." And with that, the girl- Forza, Call mentally corrected, let go of the cart, and Call rolled back to his house with something hinting at a smile.

When Call walked into math class Monday morning, the whole class stared at him. Partly, because he wasn't in a horrible mood. Partly, because Call had clothes that were actually intact. But mainly, because Call was on time.