“R.J.,” Ron’s wife calls out to Ronnie Jay from inside the tent, “Time to cut your birthday cake.”
“Be right there Mom. Just waiting for Mary May.”
R.J. walks toward the marquis and into the merriment that was inside. He sees Mary May run back over the fine manicured lawn, she even gave a Pollyanna skip, while swinging the package in one hand. She joins him and grabs his hand as they stroll into the tent.
Fifteen candles are lit and wait to be extinguished by the birthday boy. R.J. and Mary May walk over to the table to finally do the expected. After a few thoughtful loving words from R.J.’s father, R.J. blows all candles out with a strong adolescent exhale. Mary holds his hand and squeezed it like a baby anaconda. The serpent with the apple.
R.J.’s friends gather around to look at the cake. Mom starts cutting the cake into even pieces. Ron Sweet, from afar, observes the framed shot as if he was enjoying a scene on one of his movie sets. He wants another drink.
Everybody sang ‘Happy Birthday’ with crescendo, and all enjoyed the happiness they shared. It was a great adult and teenage party. Security is very present to ensure all enjoyed without concern.
R.J. was encouraged by his father to mix with the ‘oldies’. Which he did with great charm and maturity. Mary May was always at his side. She loves him. Puppy love maybe, but she loves him.
Mary proffered the parcel to R.J., who used the cake knife to pierce through the plastic post parcel. It reveals a small cardboard box with ‘Happy Birthday’ printed on it.
“Do you want to open it?” R.J. asks Mary as she tickles his palm with her long fingernails.
“Nope, it’s yours,” she says, “But we can share it if you like.”
R.J.’s fingers rip through the outer brown rapping. A small oblong cardboard box remains. R.J. flicks open the rear end. Then looks in. He can’t see a thing, so he empties the contents out in front of him. Two orange reddish brown scorpions emerge and immediately set on each of his hands. Their stings strike into R.J. repeatedly. In a split second, he attempts to flick the insects off, but one holds on, the other lands on Mary May’s dress. R.J. is in shock and quickens his breath. The remaining scorpion drives its sting into his wrist, as if by nature.
Mary May screams in terror and runs from the tent. “Get it off! Someone please get it off!” She screams over and over as she runs onto the lawn.
Jamie Mack, R.J.’s best friend, runs after Mary and sees the insect crawling up her dress. He takes off his fedora hat and begins to flick at it with the fedora’s short brim. Third attempt he dislodges it, the scorpion falls to the lawn. Jamie came down on top of it with the heel of his shoe and crushed it into the soft clay lawn. It was dead. Mary is still freaking out.
“Its dead! Its dead!” Jamie yells at her as he pulls her up from the lawn. She is crying and shaking. Jamie put his arm around her.
“Let’s go back to the tent and check on R.J.”
“No, not in there,” she resists and makes her way to the front steps of the house.
Meanwhile, back in the marquis, R.J. is lying on the ground. Ron Sweet had killed the other scorpion, by repeatedly hitting it with an empty beer pitcher. He picks up his son in his arms and hurries awkwardly back towards the house. R.J. whimpers, “Dad. Dad, please help me.”
Ron Sweet comforts his boy, “You’ll be OK son. The ambulance has been called and will be here in minutes.”
Ron walks up the steps of the house and past the sobbing Mary May.
“Is he alright?” She looks up.
Ron didn’t answer and moves R.J. onto the front veranda and lays him out on a large outdoor sofa.
Ron looks around for a moment. People are looking up at him from the front garden. One of Mary’s girlfriends has come to her aid and sits next to her. Jamie is next to R.J., asking if he can do anything.
“Help is on its way,” Ron replies solemnly.
Soon after, an ambulance drives up the long drive to the house. The paramedics run to the front porch and load R.J. onto a stretcher, then without delay into the back of the ambulance. Ronald Sweet jumps in to be next to his son. Within a few minutes the vehicle is racing its way to the hospital.
As the ambulance arrives at the emergency entrance and the rear doors are opened, they find Ronald Sweet holding his son. Ronnie Jay is dead.
VERMONT
1.
Seven months before the demise of unlucky Lucky, Police Sargent Tom Becker arrives outside Mary Taylor’s house at about 10 a.m. Mary had contacted the Brattleboro Police Department the day before to say what she saw the previous week. The information, though garbled on the phone, was of some interest, so Tom Becker is assigned the task.
Mary Taylor had lived alone for twenty years in her house, which is opposite her now deceased neighbor, Elizabeth Garner a widow and a recluse who had seldom ventured outside her home.
“Take a seat sonny, and I’ll make us a cup of tea,” Mary Taylor says as she invites the Police Officer into her home. “Sit over there near the parlor window and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Tom Becker smiles politely and accepts her offer and hopes that this is not a waste of his precious time. Tom has lived in Brattleboro all his life and had entered the Police Force at age twenty-three. Now ten years on he had elevated himself to Sargent, which he is proud of. His superiors like him because of his professionalism and competence. The town of Brattleboro, Vermont is small, quaint and has numerous campuses close and nearby. A population of about 13,000. Warmish summers and snow-covered winters, like on the front of Christmas Cards. It also is home to The New England Center for Circus Arts and the Vermont Jazz Center.
“Well, this is what I saw last week across the street which might be of interest to you,” Mary says as she places a tray with two cups on the parlor room table.
“I’m all ears, Mrs. Taylor,” replies Tom as he picks up his cup.
“I sit here most days and read the paper, or write letters to old friends, or I doze off when bored,” starts Mary. “I was sitting right here when I saw a small white car stop outside Mrs. Garner’s home last Wednesday afternoon.” Mary takes a sip from her tea.
“Go on,” says Sargent Becker.
‘Well,” replies Mary as she put her cup down, “The car stopped and I saw the driver’s door open and a cat, of all things, jump out and run up to Mrs. Garner’s front porch and just sit there.”
“Go on,” says Sargent Becker.
“Well, then the car drove away. Later on, that afternoon Mrs. Garner’s grandson Bobby Garner, who comes around every other day to check on his grandmother, drove up in his car. He checked the mail box and then walked to the porch.”
“Was this cat still there?” asks Tom.
“Yes it was. It had not moved since it arrived. However it didn’t run away when Bobby approached it, in fact it went inside with him as he unlocked the front door. I think that a bit strange, don’t you?”
“Did Mrs. Garner own a cat?”
“Yes, but it died a few years back and it was completely black. This cat was a golden color, with a dark face, legs and tail. It looked like one of those pedigree types.”
“OK, go on,” says Tom.
“Well, I must have dozed off, because when I looked again, Bobby’s car had gone and it was getting close to dark.”
Mary looks at the Sargent intently. “But the next morning, when I was here at my table, I saw that same small