Dating this text is kind of complicated. This version here is in fact, I believe, a copy of a copy--I believe it was typed up by hand from reading a hardcopy printout I made at an earlier date. (There's a VERY slight chance this is in fact the original file, but I doubt it. I had the hardcopy but not the disks on hand--and many of those disks, 3.5" floppies, went bad--and the computer I'm on now doesn't even have a 3.5" drive! So if there were any typos/misspellings in the hardcopy, I very likely edited them out in the retype, even while committing new typos and errors--apologies that I don't have the original printout available in front of me, but any differences are likely to be minimal, and I hardly want to type this all up AGAIN.) I saved the typed-up copies to a word processor file and its last date of modification is in August, 2001--so the story DEFINITELY predates that by at least a while. (There's an unfortunate reference to both President Bush and to "terrorist attacks" early in the story--the Bush comment was in reference to the FIRST President Bush, who was in office at this point in the plotline, and the "terrorists" comment was just...a very weird coincidence. Which makes this story predate September 2001, because I recall reading it after the fact and feeling kind of creepy.) I would even say it predates 2000, as I seem to recall it was typed up before I ever went online. But on the OTHER other hand...I seem to recall also that at least Chapter 1 might predate the prologue, and might have been the original second version itself with more material added later!! Aaagghhh!! It's safest to just say this version dates either from high school or from college, roughly between 1991-97, but probably closer to the later end ('95-'97) of that scale. (Recall that the ORIGINAL Sidekicks supposedly dates from 1990-91--which further bolsters my opinion that this version is much later than that!)
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7
I'M TELLING YOU, YOU HAVE GOT TO GET YOURSELF A MAN FAST." [Note--recall how I would omit quotes in the starting lines of chapters.]
Leslie Laws turned from the sink to give a half-glare, half-smirk to her friend Naomi, who stood nearby, hands on hips. "You think I wouldn't be able to do it on my own?" she asked, managing to keep her voice level.
Naomi threw up her hands. "I never said that. It's just that, in this day and age, it's pretty hard to get by on your own--"
"I've managed this long, Nay." Leslie turned back to the sink and scrubbing the dishes, never minding the redness of her hands. The water was scalding hot. "I'll keep managing."
"But not with a kid! God, Les, do you have any idea what it takes to take care of a baby? First you've got the diapers, then the feeding, and then when it wakes up in the middle of the night, God--"
"It's a he."
"It doesn't matter what it is. You've gotta go out and find yourself someone right now. Before--"
"Before what?" Leslie turned from the sink again and gestured to her belly. She was only six months along but was showing pretty well already. "You think anybody'd be that interested when I'm looking like this?"
Naomi shrugged, wilting a little. "I dunno. But maybe, if you happened to find the right guy..."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Nay, why don't you find something useful to do. I've got dishes here."
Another shrug. Naomi turned away, to the door. "Fine, don't let me bother you. I can see when I'm not wanted. Make sure to call me tomorrow morning."
"Yeah, yeah, Mom. Whatever."
Naomi snorted and disappeared.
Leslie sighed, picking up the towel and drying her hands. She didn't feel like finishing the dishes. She'd been feeling sick all day. She'd never been pregnant before, so she wasn't sure if that had anything to do with it or not. It didn't matter if the dishes got done anyway; it wasn't like there was anybody else around to use them. She left them behind and went to sit down in the den, rubbing her aching head, meanwhile turning on the TV. The house was so quiet.
"--Meanwhile, President Bush has been dealing with--"
She grimaced and changed the channel, and started flipping through them, not caring where she landed.
"--press conference--"
"--some little Third-World country is--"
"--do you mean, you don't love me? You love--"
"--terrorist attacks--"
No news is the only good news nowadays, it seems. She turned off the TV, only to have the telephone ring.
She glanced up, still rubbing her head. Now who is that? Naomi, probably--
Instantly she felt irritated and stood up slowly, supporting her back, going to answer it. She couldn't understand why she felt so annoyed. Maybe that was why, when she picked up the phone, the first thing she said was, "Naomi, if you even bother calling me again--"
"He's ours, Leslie."
She cut herself off as soon as she heard the unfamiliar voice. It was a man talking. Not Naomi. She frowned, puzzled by the cryptic message. "Excuse me?"
The only answer was the sound of the phone hanging up, and a buzz.
She held the receiver for several minutes before hanging up herself. Now what on Earth was that all about? It would be just great if someone decided to start playing prank calls on her now, of all times. Irritated again, she decided it must be time to go lie down. Before this headache decided to get any worse. She'd have to tell Naomi in the morning about that call. Probably some weirdo getting his kicks by looking in the phone book and pestering whoever's number he happened to pick. She pitied he didn't have anything better to do than bug her.
Well, she was tired, and didn't feel like dealing with it now, just like with the dishes. With another sigh she turned to the hall and made her way slowly to her room.
"Now you're getting some weirdo calling you? Les, that sounds pretty bad. Maybe you should report this or something."
"No, it's probably a teenager or something. You know how they are. Always gotta find someone to bother."
Naomi's voice was tinny over the phone. "I dunno, Les. Sounds pretty weird to me."
Leslie shrugged, though her friend couldn't see it. "It's not like he said he was going to kill me or anything. I don't even know what he was talking about. Might have a couple marbles loose upstairs, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, still, I don't like--"
A light flashed on the phone. "Oh. I'm getting another call. I'll see you later on, okay, Nay?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll call you later on. Gotta get back to work and all."
"Yeah, I'll talk with you then. Bye." She pushed the button. "Hello?"
"You know he's ours."
The blood drained from Leslie's face. It was the same voice as last night. "What?" she managed to force out.
"He's ours and we own him."
"What are you talking about? Who is this?" She couldn't control the fear that rose up in her voice, making it high pitched, on the verge of shrieky. She hated panicking, but whatever this was, it was doing the trick.
"You've known us already. We'll take him back."
"What do you want?" Leslie just about screamed. There was a click and a buzz as whoever was on the other end hung up. Leslie's fingers were curled around the receiver so tight that she couldn't let it go. It was only the sound of shattering glass that caused her to gasp and drop the phone, whirling to the window.
The window was broken. Someone had thrown a rock through it.
From outside, the squeal of car tires. Leslie ran to the door, yanking it open and dashing outside, around the corner of the house. She just managed to catch the tail end of a car disappearing down the street. There were no plates. Her chest heaving--she wasn't in as good a shape as she used to be, carrying this extra load--she turned back to the house.
And clapped her hands to her mouth, stifling a scream or a sob--maybe both.
On the side of the house, someone had painted, in bright red, a giant, dripping letter:
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