Chapter 12: It's All Fun and Games Until Your Friend Gets Savaged by a Coyote and the Law Gets Involved

It felt fucking great to kill off Joe Jones. I've got a bunch of creative energy now. On a role. 

Here's twelve: (and 1-11 if you need it)

Chapter 12: It's All Fun and Games Until Your Friend Gets Savaged by a Coyote and the Law Gets Involved

                Harold awoke with the morning sun on his face, he stretched and groaned. The smoldering of the ashes was sour in his nose, but not altogether unpleasant.

                He was alone...

                Where was Joe? Why the hell hadn't he woken Harold up? Why didn't he call like he was supposed to?

                Then he felt a rush of pride- Joe must have spent the night at Kait's! He felt for his phone, to congratulate the dirty dog, but instead of his hip-pocket, all he felt was his hip.

                Harold looked down, stunned at his nakedness. His clothes were nowhere to be found.

                He saw his backpack was missing too, and the rope he'd tied around his palm was sprawled in loose coils across the grass.

                He scrambled to his feet, in a daze of utter confusion and ran to the back door, cupping his privates from the eyes of the open air.

                The second Harold opened the door, he heard a voice call from within the hall, his mother: "Harold!? Is that you!?"

                She came bursting around the corner and skewered him with a glare- her eyes were a blazing fury. But cheeks were gaunt and her mouth drawn in utter dismay. "Harold, where the fuck where you!?" And... Why the fuck are you naked?"

                "I... Mom, I don't know. I was out by the fire all night, fell asleep out there early in the morning. Somebody took my clothes though, I swear I didn't-"

                "What the hell do you mean 'took your clothe's' why in god's name were the off in the first place?'

                "Mom, they weren't off, I didn't take them off. Joe was supposed-"

                Her face crunched into a grimace and she shook her head. Her voice shook, "Go put some fucking clothes on! Now! and then get your ass back down here."

                Harold could only guess at the time, but he knew if the sun was up, the bus to had to be around the corner, "Mom, I'll be late to school."

                Then he heard his dad's voice from beyond the hall- "No school today, Harold. Not for you. Get dressed." He sounded angry, but also weary.

                Harold went into the kitchen beyond the hall, and saw his dad. He cast his eyes to the floor, but it was too late, he'd already seen one glimpse of his dad's face, and that was enough to see the grim set of his jaw, and the sag on his brow. He threw Harold a towel to cover his shame, and then crossed his arms.

                Harold went past his father as quickly as he could, and lunged up the stairs. He found his clothes from the bonfire, and threw them on. They were still heavy with the smells of smoke and of Emily, and that was a small comfort.

                But his mind raced, and he was still bewildered.

                And then the thought came into his mind: His dad was going to thrash him. That hadn't happened in 8 years. Since before he was ten, when his dad had caught him and Joe shooting bottle rockets off into the woods...

                It was going to happen again. And maybe that was deserved. The facts spoke for themselves: he had imbibed. It wasn't a lot, or he didn't think it was. But it was obviously enough. He'd thought he'd kept it under control, but he had woken up naked.

                Well deserved or no, he had to warn Joe... But when he checked his pockets he found his phone was gone.

                He hissed when he couldn't find it, and cursed himself for losing it. "Idiot, idiot, idiot!" He turned to face his fate.

                But as he was walking down the stairs, he wondered why he found his clothes in his room.

                When he got to the base of the stairs, his dad called him to the living room.

                The sofa was open. His parents were in either recliner across from the sofa. But neither one leaned back.

                Harold saw his phone, sitting on the coffee table, and started to put the pieces together. A little red light pulsed on his cell, there was a voicemail.

                He sat down on the sofa and failed to meet their eyes. "Who brought my clothes up to me room?" It wasn't accusatory, it was merely conversational.

                His mom answered, "I did."

                "And my phone..."

                She nodded.

                "Why didn't you just leave my clothes with me, why didn't you wake me up?"

                Harold's dad leaned forward. "You weren't out there Harold, or I would have woken you up with an ass-whooping. Where were you?"

                "What do you mean I wasn't out there? I woke up in the same place I fell to sleep. The only difference was I was naked."

                His father's stare softened, ever so slightly. But his mom looked redder than the coals had been the night before. "Don't fuck with us Harold. We both went out there, you and your friends were gone. Your clothes were scattered on the ground."

                Harold shook his head. "Mom, I really don't know what you mean. I swear to you I went to sleep-"

                His dad cut him off. "Why don't you start from the beginning. Explain every single thing that happened after we spoke last night."

                Harold gulped.

                And his dad raised a finger, and pointed at the phone, "When you are done explaining, the three of us will be listening to that voicemail together."

                He breathed as deep as he could to calm his nerves, and then began. He told every truth he knew, and as fully as he could. He explained, "Once I went back outside, I told Joe that you were just yanking his chain, and you didn't care if we had a couple drinks-" His mom shot his dad a look that was sharper than daggers, his dad shrugged, and gestured for her to pay attention,"- and that you just wanted us not to overdo it, to be safe and make sure we cleaned up."

                Harold told how they had sat around and cooked the hotdogs and munched some snacks, and sipped Joe's dad's awful whiskey. He talked about the little memorial for Rufus, and... "Then we made our plans."

                "What plans." His mom was impatient for the damning pieces.

                "Rose, let him talk." His dad wanted every detail, probably for the same reason.

                Harold clutched his knees. "We were... Planning to catch the coyote that killed Rufus. We wanted to catch it, so Joe could kill it. For revenge."

                His mom gasped, his dad made no response whatsoever.

                "We planned to trap it in the shed."

                Then his dad chuckled. "Idiots. You kids are idiots. That explains that rope. Explains all that rancid meat and dog food I found in there." Then he looked hard at Harold. "I didn't clean that shit up, by the way. That's your job once we... that's your job, later."

                Harold only nodded, and then did the only thing he could- he continued his story. "Well we set the trap. Cooked some s'mores, drank some more- more water and cola than alcohol, actually." His mom's eyes called bullshit, "I mean it mom. Joe only had one flask. And most of us didn't like the flavor. It just felt like we had to, you know?"

                "I absolutely do not 'know'. Don't lie to us."

                "I'm really not. I'm just telling what I remember. I remember laying down with Emily. She fell asleep in my arms."

                Her eyes widened. "We didn't do anything mom. I mean we kissed and hugged, nothing else."

                His father spoke as though he were biting back rage, "Son, we found your clothes and no you. Tell us the goddamned truth."

                "Dad, goddamit! I am! I don't know anything else! After a little while Emily's mom came to pick her up. I walked her to the front, I even met her mom at the end of the driveway. If you want to embarrass me to death, you can ask Mrs. Green if I was wearing clothes when she saw me."

                His mom was on the war path: "Maybe we will."

                "Mom come on. Please don't."

                His dad offered a bit of support, "We won't. But we will ask her what time she saw you."

                Harold gestured to his phone, "I texted Emily probably thirty minutes after wards to thank her for coming by. There's a time stamp. Anyway, I came back to the fire- still clothed, and laid there for a while looking at the stars. Then Joe and Kait and I started talking about the trap, and we got to thinking it wasn't gonna work. Kait said she was tired, Joe said he'd walk her home-"

                "I told you to stick together." His dad's voice was almost a croak.

                Harold shook his head, "Dad Kait didn't walk home alone. And I'm fine. Joe was supposed to call me when he was walking back, and then we were gonna take turns watching the shed for the rest of the night, but obviously he never came back, so..." He hesitated. He didn't want to burn Joe, but... They were all gonna be in it no matter what, so he told the truth: "So I figure he must have just spent the night with Kait."

                His dad sighed. "And then you fell asleep? And between then and now you just disappeared, Then, supposedly you woke up naked?"

                "Yes." He said it as confidently as he could. "I don't know how my clothes got off, but I promise you I didn't take them off. And I don't remember leaving that spot from the time I laid down to the time I woke up, maybe I was sleep walking or-"

                His mom shook her head, "You've never been a sleep walker, or even a sleep talker."

                Then his dad, "I think it's time we listen to that voicemail. If it breaks your story, I will break your ass."

                Harold hesitated. But he had told everything he knew, and now there was nothing he could do.

                He set the phone to speaker, and played the message: Joe's voice, grainy but filled with syrupy confidence, 'Dammit Harry what happened to making sure I got home safe, you bum? What are you sleeping on the job?' Then a pause, and a shift in his tone: 'Harry, you better be fucking Okay man. Why aren't you answering your phone?'

                The phone clicked, and that was all.

                "Because, I was asleep."

                "You fell asleep in the amount of time it took Joe to walk to the end of the block and back?"

                Harold shrugged. "Yes. But it seemed like they were gone for a long time. I don't know why, maybe we should just ask Joe."

                His mom's eyes started to leak tears like pieces of shattered glass, and his father shook his head. "I told you idiots to stick together."

                Harold looked at them, and suddenly his throat was achingly dry. "Guys... What..."

                His mom tried. "Joe... J-" She broke down in pathetic sobs.

                Harold stood up, was pushed to his feet rather- by an blaze of panic. "Mom. No. What the fuck?"

                His dad moved across the room, and put a hand on his arm, strong. Too strong. It hurt his arm. "Sit down son."

                Harold did not sit.

                Instead he stammered. "Joe..."

                His dad gripped his other arm, "Joe is dead."

                His face felt numb, his legs felt weak. His dad lowered him gently to the cushion of the sofa.

                Harold blinked, and shook his head. He opened his mouth, to say... nothing. He shut it. And shook his head again. Then finally, "Dead?"

                Both parents nodded, His mom over a handful of her blouse which she was using to wipe the tears off her face.

                "How?"

                His dad was the only one who seemed able to speak. "He was mauled. Kait saw the whole thing. The want to talk to you, they're out looking for you still. We were with them at first, but after a while they told us to stay home in case you showed up here... We thought you..."

                Harold shut his eyes tight.

                His dad's voice cracked, "We thought they'd find you same as Joe."

                Harold could only mumble. "Joe."

                Somewhere under the stunned grief, there was a flicker of rage. The motherfucker needed to die now. His mom was still sobbing, she stumbled over and gave him a wet-faced hug.

                His dad squeezed his arm. "We have to tell the police you're back. They are going to ask for your phone up to you if you want to give it to them. They are going to want to interview you."

                "Do you mean interrogate?"

                His dad shook his head. "They'll have questions. They'll be mad at you the same way I am. But Kait saw an animal. You aren't a... suspect."

                "Oh my god, what about Joe's parents?"

                Neither his mom or dad had anything to say to that.

                "Can I call Emily?"

                His dad nodded. "You'd better do it now, and do it quick. They won't be long once I tell them you're here."

                His dad picked up the cordless and dialed from a card with big blue letters- then he went in the adjacent room.

                He dialed her number, but it went to voicemail... "Hey Em... There's something... Oh jesus-fuck. Something happened last night, if you haven't heard already. I can't tell you over a text, please give me a call."  

                He looked at the time, and figured she must be in class. Art class.

                And his shoulders shook. He started to cry.

                The police showed only a couple minutes later. He told them everything he'd told his parents.

                They did not act suspicious, but he knew they had to be- his story was missing a giant chunk- why had he been missing, where had he gone, why was he naked?

                They asked him... He had no answers.

                They asked if they could borrow his phone, said it would help them clear him. He knew that was bullshit, so he said no.

                They left.

                Harold stared at his phone, he could hear Joe's voice, still grainy but all too loud in the chaos between his ears: 'You bum? What are you sleeping on the job?' He hadn't heard the accusation in Joe's voice when they had played the recording, but in his memory it was all too clear: 'Dammit Harry what happened to making sure I got home safe, you bum?'

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13 is ready: Shake the Rust Off