The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  "Right..." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. "And now he’s a kidnapping victim. You guys are so full of shit, you probably belch farts..."

  "I agree..." Charlie interrupted, "the kidnapping story is not true. It is simply a method of insuring Chris receives help as quickly as possible."

  "So, you admit the police are in on this too."

  "The police thought the advertising campaign would be the best way to ensure his speedy return."

  "It’s a hell of an advertising campaign. It’s all lies." She changed the topic. "What about his mother?"

  "What about her?"

  "If you admit she has not been arrested, and you have agreed to fly her out here, then why can't she come to Portland until Friday?"

  "She’s still in hospital from the burns she received when Chris killed all those people in California. That was quite a tragedy you know..." Charlie stalled for time, "...Thirty-eight people died in that inferno. Many of them were women and children..."

  "Shut up! Look you...I don't know what I believe and I’m no longer certain what is right or wrong, but what I do know is - nobody has the right to keep a child from his mother when he needs her as badly as Chris does. You get her out here!"

  "Not until Friday. Until that time she has to remain under a doctor's care."

  "So, you are now saying that she is not in custody, but is in a hospital."

  "That's correct."

  "Bull! What hospital is she in?"

  "Saint John's Hospital, here in Detroit. But she’s sedated most of the time. She’s burned quite badly."

  "So, I suppose that means Chris can't call and talk with her?"

  "No, I can arrange a time, when they could reduce her medication and Chris could speak with her. Would he like that?"

  There was a moment’s pause, muted conversation in the background. Then Chris returned to the phone. "I want to talk to my mom."

  "Sure." Charlie answered reasonably. "How about tomorrow, maybe around three in the afternoon."

  "Okay...how do I phone her."

  "Just call the main hospital number. Hold on for a moment Chris and I’ll get it for you." Charlie held the phone tight to his ear. He knew the number. He had called the hospital hundreds of times during the years Beth had worked there. Through the earpiece he could hear earnest conversation. Chris' voice and the voice of the woman he had spoken with. A young voice, probably not out of her twenties, Charlie thought. There was another voice as well. A man. He was urgently addressing Chris now, his voice audible over the telephone.

  "We have to go. We've been here too long."

  "But I need the number so I can phone my Mom."

  "Fuck the number. We can phone directory assistance. Hang up the phone... Now!"

  "No, Jon, no!" A thumping sound, possibly two people fighting for the possession of the receiver, echoed down the line.

  "Chris, I got the number!" Charlie shouted into the receiver, hoping his voice would encourage Chris to wrestle the phone away from his friend and continue the call. There was no response. "Chris are you still there? I got the phone number of the hospital." There was a click followed by the buzz of a disconnected line. He listened for a moment longer, then hung up the receiver. His job was done.

  Chris tore his hand away from Jon's grasp. "I didn't get the phone number for the hospital!"

  "So what! We can look it up."

  "But, I don't know if I can call at three or not."

  "So what. Call at three and if she’s not there, call again. Now, let's move!"

  He grabbed Chris' arm and hauled him away from the phone. Carman was already several steps ahead of them, her head moving rapidly from side to side as she scanned the crowded shopping mall.

  Until a child is about five, possibly six, there is little concern in their daily lives regarding social consciousness and image. As they get older, they begin to realize that there are such things as socially indecorous behaviour and, since they have spent their entire lives copying behaviour from their parents and others of importance, they quickly ascribe to these norms. Nudity is no longer flaunted with abandon. Bowel movements are not something to be proud of. Little brothers and sisters are annoying and no longer much fun to play with. Unfortunately, and sadly for their care-givers, they also begin to cherish the values of status and a positive peer image as absolutely essential components of life. By the time they reach adolescence, their search for an affirmative peer image has reached epidemic proportions and, unfortunately, this need usually leads to everyone being just like everyone else.

  Chris would have been mortified - no more than that - death would have been preferable to have been discovered by any of his classmates as he walked through the mall. His unruly mane, still awaiting a visit to the barber, had been combed forward then trimmed in long bangs that hung just above his eyes. His deeply tanned legs were also shown to their best avail. His feet and ankles clad in short white socks and shiny black shoes. His naked thighs covered from just above the knees in a pearly white dress, buckled at the waist with a black plastic belt. Exactly the type of outfit that most twelve-year old girls would have abhorred. Chris totally understood their attitude. The fresh air wafting through his underwear and between his bum cheeks, the lacy material billowing out behind him and pressing against the front of his legs as he walked, was the most debilitating feeling he had ever experienced. He also felt stupid and sort of perverted.

  His feelings were certainly not improved when Jon whispered in his ear. "Flounce a bit. Don't slap your feet down like some sumo-wrestler. Prance like you are having fun shopping in the mall with your big brother."

  Chris looked up at him and scowled.

  "And besides..." Jon smiled down at him, his lips twitching. "I just noticed some young guys over by the record store giving you the eye. Maybe you can score later."

  "Fuck off." Chris mumbled under his breath.

  "Oh, such terrible language, from my little sister...Oh shit!" He whispered, his voice suddenly serious. "There are the cops."

  Two of them charged through the sparse crowds in the upper level, people turning their heads to watch their advance. They were on the opposite side of the concourse from where the three of them strolled, the open mezzanine above the lower level separating them. "Let's go into Sears." Jon whispered and he and Chris made a sharp turn into the men's wear department. Carman continued on a few steps in front of them and, then noticing they had turned into the department store, she casually followed them.

  "That was close." Chris mumbled as Jon bumped against him in the narrow aisle between men's overcoats and sweaters.

  "Yeah. I think we need a place to hangout for a while. There are probably more cops watching the parking lot."

  Carman caught up with them. "Jon..." she whispered, "...what are we going to do?"

  "Hang out here for a while. I don't want to go back outside yet."

  "Where?"

  "I don't know..."

  A salesclerk approached the three of them. "May I help you?" He asked.

  "Ummm...no, not actually." Jon smiled. "We were just saying, it would be nice to get a coffee. Is there a restaurant at this end of the mall?"

  "Sure. Two stores down on the lower level."

  "Great, thanks." Jon turned towards the store escalators. "Let's go get a coffee."

  "What are we going to do now?" Chris asked, shifting uncomfortably on the cold, vinyl bench seat of the restaurant, minutes later.

  "Wait here for a while." Jon responded from across the table, as he fumbled in his pockets. “God, I need a cigarette, but I can’t find my damn lighter.”

  “I’ve got it.” Chris said from across the table as he picked up the menu. “You left it on the seat in the car.”

  “Great.” Jon said, as Chris reached down with one hand and then moments later slid the Bic lighter across the table.

  “But what I meant was.” Chris continued. “What are we going to do, after we finish waiting. They’ll know by now we are actually staying in Po
rtland."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because Carman told Uncle Charlie. She asked when my Mom could be flown to Portland. Not Seattle."

  "You’re kidding!" Jon looked accusingly across the table at Carman sitting beside Chris. "Did you?"

  Carman shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Did I?"

  "Shit." Jon muttered shaking his head. "So, the three trips up here were for nothing."

  "God...sorry. It must have just slipped out."

  "Shit." Jon muttered again.

  "Well it doesn't matter anyway." Chris subconsciously closed the menu. He had already memorized its contents. "We know now the police in Seattle are in contact with the police in Detroit. When we try and meet with my mom, they’re going to try and arrest us."

  "Yeah..." Jon replied. "But we already have figured out how to deal with that problem. When your mom arrives at the airport, we’ll have her paged and then we’ll..."

  "I have a better idea." Chris interrupted. "We go to Canada."

  "Canada. Why Canada?"

  "Canada has a different police force. In order to get us arrested, Uncle Charlie's friends would have to contact the RCMP in Canada. To institute an international arrest warrant takes time. I know it’s true, I read about it in some law books I studied. They couldn't do it in two days and even if they could, it would make things more difficult for them."

  Jon and Carman sat silent for a moment. "Ummm..." Jon spoke slowly. "That’s not a bad idea. Yeah...," he nodded his head vigorously "...yeah, that would do fine. Canada and the RCMP. That would fuck up your Uncle Charlie's friends, big time." He turned to Carman. "What do you think?"

  "We were afraid the police would be after us here, and it looks like they are. If Chris is right about international arrest warrants - God, I hate the sound of that - then we should go up to Canada on Thursday night."

  "No. I think we should go up there today. We’re already in Seattle and it’s only three hours up to Vancouver. If we go today, we’ll have all of Thursday to figure out a plan."

  Carman shrugged. "What do you think Chris?"

  "Let's do it!"

  ELEVEN - THREE

  The overhead sign said 'Last exit in USA' and they took the ramp into the small town of Blain, Washington. Large billboards cluttered the shoulder of the exit ramp, advertising the merits of each individual duty-free shop packed side-by-side in the small town. Carman twisted in her seat, looking over the headrest and back at Chris. "Do you want anything at the..." she began and then broke into laughter. "Chris you can't sit like that. Girls in dresses cannot put their feet up on the seat and rest their chin on their knees.”

  Chris dropped his feet back to the floor and glowered. "I hate this dress! My legs are cold, it keeps bunching up around my ass and I feel stupid."

  Carman laughed again. "Finally...equality among the sexes. Every boy and man should be forced to wear a short dress at least three times a year. It would provide them with a meaningful education in the hardships women put up with on a daily basis, only to meet some socially imposed dress-code. Too bad we didn't get you some high-heeled shoes while we were at it."

  "Go away." Chris muttered, looking out the side window.

  Jon chuckled from behind the wheel. "She is riding your ass boy. You got to shut the bitch down before she has you in panties and garters."

  "Ah-ha!" Carman slapped Jon's shoulder "A male chauvinist pig is sitting in the seat beside me. In my car. A man who just might find himself standing all by his lonesome, at a bus stop in a few minutes."

  Jon held one hand up in submission. "Fine, fine, I'll wear a dress whenever you want."

  Chris giggled from the back seat. "Tonight! In the hotel room."

  "Don't push it buddy," Jon called back over his shoulder. Then he asked, "what do we want to buy here?"

  "Nothing. But, we should prepare ourselves to cross the border." Carman responded, all humour gone from her voice. "Pull into some parking lot. I want to tie back your hair and we should make sure Chris is presentable."

  Jon followed the road at the end of the ramp until he came to a large hotel parking lot. Pulling the car into the back corner he turned off the ignition. The sun was setting over the Pacific and the sky was full of reds and yellows as the three of them got out of the car, stretching their muscles after the drive up from Seattle.

  "Okay...Jon sit on the hood, while I tie back your hair." Carman commanded. "I would liked to have had it cut, but I guess you’re not in to that."

  "No way!" Jon clutched his long blonde locks. "The babes love this hair."

  "Right." Carman answered sarcastically. "Some babes..." she emphasised the word "...might, but the ones you should be after, don't give it a second look."

  "Oh, that’s cruel."

  "No, that's reality. Now, sit straight while I tie it back."

  "Are you guys mad at each other?" Chris asked. His white dress rumpled and twisted to one side under the plastic belt.

  Carman laughed. "No. Jon and I go way back. It’s just the car ride - it makes me hanker for a fight."

  "Oh." Chris nodded, not really understanding. "So, is my name really going to be Christa?"

  "That's right. Christa Carter. Just for the border crossing." Carman finished with the elastic, Jon's hair pulled tight against his scalp and hanging in a long ponytail down his back. "Think you can remember that?"

  "Of course. And I’m from Seattle, Washington." Chris continued.

  "That's right. And why are you going to Canada?"

  "Because I’m visiting my brother, who lives with you two in the University residence at UDC."

  "It is UBC. You mustn’t have heard me correctly. The University of British Columbia. But UDC would do. The important thing," Carman bent down so her eyes were level with Chris', "is you don't get nervous. Just don't say much. I doubt if they’ll be very interested in you anyway. Let Jon and I do the taking."

  "Okay. No problem."

  "Great." Carman gave him a quick hug. "Now, let me straighten that dress and remember, don't be sitting with your knees up in the air. Little girls learn not to do that, very early in life."

  Chris nodded.

  "Citizenship?" The Canadian Customs Officer asked from her booth as Carman stopped the car at the white line.

  "American." Carman replied.

  "American." Jon added, from the passenger seat, as the Officer bent her head to look in at him.

  "What is the purpose of your visit to Canada?"

  "We are students at UBC." Carman replied.

  "Students..." The Customs Officer looked through the back window at Chris. "What is the little girl doing with you then?"

  "She’s visiting her brother in residence." Carman responded. "He lives on the same floor as Jon does."

  The Customs Officer leaned forward on her stool and addressed Chris through the open driver's window. "You’re going to visit your brother, are you?"

  "Yes, I am." Chris answered, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice.

  "Great!" She smiled, "I bet he’s looking forward to that."

  Chris nodded.

  "I’m from Prince Rupert. I always looked forward to family visits when I was in residence at UBC."

  "Yeah, Christa's brother has been bugging us all week to make sure we picked her up on our way here." Carman continued the conversation, confident their story had been accepted by the Customs Officer. "Jon and I were down in Seattle visiting some friends. We had to take a couple days off school, but...that's life."

  The Customs Officer smiled. "Yes, I remember it well. What residence are you in?"

  "Residence?"

  "Yes, what residence do you live in?"

  "Ummm...the UBC residence." Carman answered weakly, dread rushing through her body.

  The Customs Officer slowly pushed herself back upright on her stool, her cheerful countenance dissolving. "There is more than one residence at UBC."

  "Oh, I know that!" Carman's mind was in turmoil, fighting to find an appropriate explana
tion. "Ahhh...we haven't been there all that long. I guess I never found out the name of the building."

  "Must be kind of difficult getting your mail, if you don't know where you live."

  Carman sputtered a small laugh. "I guess that’s why I haven't got any mail."

  "How are you going to get out to UBC?"

  "Ummm...what do you mean - how?"

  "What roads are you going to take? What streets do you take through the city to get to UBC?"

  "Ummm...I don't know." She forced out another light-hearted laugh. "My parents just gave me this car and like...I've never driven out to the University before and..."

  The Customs Officer nodded, her body bent over, busily scribbling on a clipboard by her computer terminal as Carman continued.

  "...Jon and I were just saying that we’ll have to buy a map to find our way back and it’s so strange we don't know our way, even though we have..."

  "Pull you car over to the left." The Customs Officer interrupted, handing Carman a white strip of paper. "Park by that building there." She pointed out a long, low building with angled parking spaces a hundred feet ahead. Several cars were already parked in the slots, their trunks open, suitcases and miscellaneous luggage piled around them. "Give the Officer that form, after you have parked."

  "Shit!" Jon whispered as Carman angled the car across the multitude of lanes. "Caught for want of a fucking name. Shit!" He repeated, smashing his fist against the armrest.

  "What will they do to us?" Chris asked from the back seat.

  "Fucked if I know." Jon spoke out of the side of his mouth keeping his head facing forward. "Try not to say much Chris. Let Carman and me do the talking."

  "Okay." Chris muttered as Carman parked the car.

  "Get out of the car, please." Two customs guards stood at either side of their car. One, a woman of about thirty, the other a man, closer to fifty. The lady opened Chris' door, before he had an opportunity to do so himself, and he stepped out onto the pavement.

  "Identification, please, Sir." The older guard asked Jon. "You too Madam." He spoke to Carman over the roof of the car.