by R L Delaney
Somebody was shuffling about. Justin blinked, and brushed with his hand through his hair. He should tell Dad.
But then he noticed that the door to his parents’ bedroom stood open a crack, and he relaxed. His parents were up. Maybe Dad had a bad dream too.
Justin hopped down the stairs, and walked into the kitchen. There indeed was Dad. His father was standing with his back to the door, and was rummaging in one of the kitchen drawers. Justin cleared his throat.
"Dad? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
His unexpected words send a shock through his Dad's body, which made him jump. When he turned and saw Justin he relaxed.
"Are you all righ—" But Justin did not finish his sentence and stared dumbfounded at Dad's trembling right hand. Dad was holding a revolver. Justin narrowed his eyes. "What in the world are you doing, Dad?"
"There’s noise in the basement,” Dad whispered.
Justin didn't understand.
"I think we’ve got a burglar," Dad explained further, while licking his lips. The kitchen light reflected on the gleaming bald spot on his head.
Justin blinked. "Where?"
Dad did not answer, but pointed to the cellar door with the tip of the gun. Justin walked over and pressed his ear on the door with the peeling, yellow paint.
“Be careful, Justin,” Dad whispered again. “Don’t do anything stupid. I have called the police. They should be here any minute.”
“What did you hear, Dad?” Justin whispered back.
Father shrugged his shoulders. “I woke up when I heard something crack, like the splintering of wood, and when I came down here, I heard distinct footsteps. I switched the basement light on and off, just to let whoever was down there know that I knew he was there.”
“And that’s it?”
“I haven’t heard anything anymore, for a while.” Dad’s voice was tense and Justin could see his Dad’s hand was trembling. Seeing the gun in Dad’s hand was not a very comforting sight either, but Justin understood it made Dad feel safe.
He kept his ear pressed to the door. At first he heard nothing, but then, as he listened intently, he heard something. There was a low scratching sound, and a bit of a whimper, and something moved. Something else was rattling too. Bottles. Somebody, or something, was touching Dad's stash of favorite French wines, but whatever sound it was, it was not the sound of a burglar. Of course, and to be perfectly truthful, Justin had never heard the sound of a burglar before, but this just did not sound like a hardened criminal bent on running off with his family’s meager savings.
"I think it's just an animal, Dad," Justin spoke as he looked up. "A cat maybe, or a possum that fell in through the window near the ground, and can't get out. Shall I open the door? I don't think there's anything to worry about."
Dad's jaws tightened and he shook his head. "Just have patience, Justin. We'll wait for your uncle Harry and let him handle the whole thing."
"You called Uncle Harry?" Justin scratched his forehead. "He’ll be happy to show up here in the middle of the night.” But Justin had to admit, it was probably the best thing Dad could have done. Uncle Harry was not only an impressive looking detective who would know all the right moves, but he was nice and always treated Justin with respect. To say he was like a second father would go too far, still Justin liked Uncle Harry lots. And the feeling was mutual. Ever since Justin had showed a genuine interest in the work of a detective, Uncle Harry had allowed Justin to come over whenever he wanted to, and had given him permission to read through some of the case files of the petty crimes in Dewsbury. Mother, especially, had not liked it, but Uncle Harry had assured her that there was nothing to worry about. "Its good training, Tina,” he had tried to convince her. “Younger people often have a unique and fresh view that we older folks sometimes lack, and I greatly value your son's opinion."
Mother, who turned a little pale, had still been doubtful, claiming Justin was way too young for such stuff, but Harry had argued that nothing really serious ever happened in Dewsbury anyway, so what was the big deal. At last, Dad had sided with his brother and Justin had become unofficially Dewsbury’s youngest unlicensed detective.
Just as Dad wanted to answer, they heard the sirens of a police car that stopped in front of the house with screeching tires, its flashing blue lights swirling through the kitchen window.
"Good," Dad mumbled, "Harry is here. Go open the front door, son."
Justin, glad to be away from the scene with the gun, rushed out and let Uncle Harry in, and only seconds later Harry appeared, casually dressed in a sweatshirt and loose training pants. He had clearly been called out of bed and had not taken the time to properly dress for the occasion.
"Hello Dick," Harrison said as he stepped onto the kitchen tiles, making a clicking sound with his boots. "What seems to be the problem?"
"A burglar… I think," Dad answered without taking his eyes off the cellar door, his gun trained and ready to fire. Uncle Harry's eyes narrowed when he saw the gun in Dad's hand and his face took on a concerned expression. "Put that gun away Dick, before something bad happens."
Dad sighed, but knowing help had arrived, he lowered the gun. Uncle Harry turned to Justin. "Where's that burglar?"
Justin pointed to the cellar door. "I don't think there's a burglar, Uncle… but I suppose its better you do the investigating."
Uncle Harry nodded and stepped towards the door. "Is there a light switch?"
Justin nodded.
"Turn it on," Harry ordered. He waited until Justin had switched the button, took his own gun out of its holster, and swung open the door. "Police! What's going on down there?" His deep, bass voice echoed through the cellar.
No answer. Everything was still.
Justin craned his neck to see past Uncle Harry's bulky body as the man stealthily descended into the cellar on the stony steps, but he was soon out of sight. A cold wind swept in from the chilly cellar below causing both Dad and Justin to shiver. They were only dressed in their pajamas.
For a while they didn’t hear much. Just the heavy boots of Uncle Harry stomping around on the cement floor of the cellar. Then there was the sound of breaking glass, immediately followed by a muffled curse from Uncle Harry. One of Dad’s favorite wines had crashed to the floor, and the scent of good wine wafted into the kitchen from below.
“Come here, you mongrel,” Justin could hear his Uncle mutter. Then there was more stumbling about and seconds later, Uncle Harry's head appeared again on the cellar steps, while holding something in his arms.
Justin’s eyes widened. “A dog?”
“It is,” Uncle Harry replied, as he held the dog up for all to see. A Jack Russell, white with black spots and friendly, brown eyes.
“That’s it?” Dad stammered. “Was that our burglar?”
Harrison pressed his lips together. “At least one of them.”
Dad looked up, surprise in his eyes. “What do you mean, Harry?”
Harry curled his lips, and pulled out a kitchen chair so he could sit down. “The window to the street…”
“What about it?”
“Broken. There was a forced entry, so there probably was a burglar. And I believe this little fellow…” he patted the dog in his arms, “… just fell in through the window later.”
Dad shook his head. “So… there really was somebody?”
Harrison nodded. “Looks like it, Dick, unless that window was already broken.”
Dad shook his head. “That window was fine last night.”
For a moment nobody spoke. Finally Justin broke the silence with the one question on his mind that kept him busy. “What are we going to do with the dog?”
The Jack Russell nuzzled his nose against Harrison’s belly, clearly feeling safe in the muscled arms of the policeman. But Uncle Harry would have none of it and handed the dog over to Justin. “You take him, Justin.”
Justin pressed the dog to his chest and began to caress him.
But Dad shook his he
ad. "It's a street dog. Take that animal with you, Harrison," Dad curled his lip. “Tina doesn’t like dogs.”
"Me?" Uncle Harry protested. "I am a police officer. I don't run an animal shelter. In fact, there’s not even a shelter in Dewsbury."
But Justin had other hopes. “Dad… Let’s keep him. I'll take care of him."
Uncle Harry nodded as he stared at Dad. "Might be a good idea, Dick."
"A dog?" Dad snorted. "Dogs are messy and they bark."
"That's right," Uncle Harry said. "That's just the point. That's what you need, Dick. A burglar alarm. Dogs can make such a racket that no burglar will ever want to come near your place again."
Dad frowned. "Really?"
"Yes, Dick… really."
Dad sighed and turned to Justin. "I'll talk to your mother, Justin. I am not promising anything yet, but I suppose he can stay, for now."
Uncle Harry winked at Justin, who grinned as he pressed the spotted dog to his chest, causing the dog to start licking him on the nose with his pink tongue. Justin could not help but chuckle.
Uncle Harry cleared his throat. “Eh… there’s one more thing.”
“What?” Dad raised his brows.
“It’s probably nothing,” Uncle Harry replied, and he turned to Justin. “Were you maybe testing some of the chemistry stuff you learned at school down there?”
Justin narrowed his eyes. “Of course not, Uncle. I hate chemistry.”
“Justin never goes down there,” Dad added. “That place is reserved exclusively for my wines.”
Uncle Harry curled his lips. “Well, somebody’s been doing something down there. I found stuff.”
“Stuff? What are you talking about?” Alarm flashed over Dad’s face.
Uncle Harry smacked his lips. “There’s a little gas burner down there, a few empty vials, and a rubber tube.”
“Excuse me? Where did that come from?” Father turned to Justin. “Don’t lie, Justin. You must have been doing some sort of experiment.”
The dog in Justin’s arms seemed oblivious to the shudder that went through Justin’s body, and seemed to think it was a sign of Justin’s affection, and began licking Justin’s face again.
“No, Dad,” Justin stammered, trying to get the dog out of his face. “I hate chemistry, and I have not been down there.”
Chapter Three
Sixteen young teens sat in two rows behind their desks in front of a blackboard that covered pretty much the entire length of the front of the classroom, all of them wishing they were somewhere else.
Justin did not feel as tired as he had feared after his adventures of the night before, still he felt anything but prepared for the test. He constantly yawned and had to do his best to shake off the drowsy feeling that threatened to overtake him.
The dreaded week of tests had arrived, and today chemistry was scheduled.. That also meant they were now sitting in what the not so bright students, long before Justin had entered the school, had dubbed The room of death. It really was nothing more than a specially arranged classroom where all tests were given, but because it was the place where cold, rigid numbers decided the future of every student in school, and many a student had entered there with pounding heart and sweaty brow, the name had stuck.
When Justin had first heard it, he had chuckled. He was a good student, and was of the opinion that tests weren't all that difficult, as long as one would take ample time to study the material.
But today he dreaded entering the classroom as much as the worst student around, and for the first time he agreed with its unfortunate nickname. But his fears had nothing to do with the test itself. It was because he would have to face Sternfoot again after that horrible nightmare he had had. How could he ever even look at the man again with normal eyes?
The desks in the musty classroom were carefully arranged by the janitor so they provided room enough in between for the teacher to walk around and to reduce the possibility of cheating to a bare minimum.
Justin scanned the room for a suitable place to sit and he opted for a desk right near the middle. After he walked over to it, he pulled out the hard, uncomfortable seat and sat down. Time to start.
But Sternfoot, strangely enough, had not yet arrived.
Students were still chattering and joking around, and arranged their stuff, getting ready for whatever was coming their way. Johnny Bertram, seated right before him, was nervously glancing at his textbook, while quoting some of the more important formulas in a feeble effort to force his mind to remember the useless information. His monotonous jabber would not have sounded strange in a Hindu temple, somewhere way off in the Himalayas, and Justin felt sorry for him. Why was it that success in life always seemed to be tied to good grades? It just didn't seem right.
But where was Sternfoot? If the teacher didn't show up soon, they wouldn't have enough time to finish the wretched test. Sternfoot was usually very punctual. He hated latecomers, and would orally wipe the floor with any student who happened to go by another schedule than Sternfoot's.
Some students shuffled aimlessly with their feet, while others sharpened their pencils for the third time. Billy Bratmeyer, the chubbiest of the bunch, yawned out loud, and, with a bored expression, stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. For Billy the test didn't matter anyway. He was already so far behind, he was never going to catch up no matter what he got on the test.
At the desk next to him, Amy Stenson seemed deep in thought. Justin glanced at her and sought eye contact, but the girl did not notice. Amy Stenson should have no problems with a chemistry test. She was among the best of the class, and just for once Justin felt a twinge of envy. But as soon as he felt it he pushed the feeling away. Amy deserved better from him. To Justin, Amy was just about the nicest girl in class, and even though she didn't officially carry the name 'girlfriend,' still she came close to bearing that title. She seemed to understand him, and they often talked during lunch break. Nothing deep, at least not yet, but their communications were usually happy and upbeat. They would talk about the best musical bands, the horror of school, the state of the nation, and about whatever solutions they thought would bring about world peace.
From the first day that Amy had walked into the class after she had moved here from Bakersville, Justin had been attracted to her curious, blue eyes that seemed to study everything they beheld. Yet, there was always this hint of shyness that told him he needed to be gentle with her, as harshness and insensitivity would cause these sparkling eyes to dim, the curtain of happiness would close, and force her to withdraw again in her own secret world. And that was just the world Justin was longing to explore.
What was her world really like? He had often wondered about it as he stared at her from behind while sitting in the back row of the class, and although he was supposed to concentrate on Alexander the Great, Einstein’s theory of relativity, or the laws of exponents and absolute values, dreaming about Amy Stenson was a whole lot more fun.
Amy Stenson was nice.
Unlike Sandra Applebee or Lilly Witherspoon, the brassy, shallow cheerleaders of the class, who constantly tried to lure you into their superficial web with flashy, plastic smiles, Amy did not dress extravagantly and did not paste too much makeup on her face.
She would wear her chestnut hair mostly just loose, and then it would cascade down her slender face and fall over her shoulders in tempting waves of brown. But not today. Now, she wore a simple ponytail, and it looked good on her.
He cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention.
It worked, as it shook her out of her reverie, and she looked up.
"Sternfoot is late," Justin mumbled
She smiled and was just about to answer when the door opened and Principle Rigby walked in. His left eye twitched. It always did when he was nervous. Or maybe it was just the other way around… because it twitched it caused him to be nervous. Justin had not decided yet.
Rigby scanned the class in his usual formal, uninspiring way and lifted his hand in an effort to silence
everyone. Why would he show up in the room of death?
Rigby was not what you would call a favorite of the students. Bald and skinny, and with heavy dark-rimmed glasses perched on his hawk like nose, he always made sure he kept his professional distance from any of the students, and somehow always gave you the impression he was the king of Siberia. His dealings with any of the students were usually short, formal and cold, and if perchance an obstinate student got sent out of the classroom for whatever offense, punishment would be swift and without much mercy. "Law and order are the bedrock of this school." It was the quote he always used at the opening speech of the new school year and then he would invariably follow it with a saying from the philosopher Aristotle. "At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst." Justin had never given it much thought. Philosophy was not his game.
Rigby cleared his throat, plucked at his chin, and broke out in a voice like a foghorn, "I am sorry to have to inform you, but Mister Sternfoot is ill and will not be able to come to school. He's in bed with a fever. Your test will be postponed to a later date."
Nobody said a word, although the dark cloud that had hung over the room seemed to lift almost immediately. If Rigby had expected everyone to feel sorry for Sternfoot he sure was mistaken. Nobody really cared about Sternfoot's condition, and the prospect of not having to take the test was a welcome relief to most. It certainly was to Justin.
"You all are to leave the classroom in an orderly fashion," Rigby continued, "…and wait in the hall, or go outside until your next class. That will be all." He scanned the class like a Roman legionnaire and there was no doubt he demanded an immediate exit.
Justin turned to Amy and whispered, "Care to go outside? I had the strangest night and I'd like to talk with you about it …"
Amy raised her brows and nodded. "Sure, Justin."
Minutes later, they found themselves outside, and they spotted a park bench that would help them to comfortably bask in the warmth of the morning sun.
"What's up?" Amy asked after they had settled down. She stared at Justin with her endearing, curious eyes.