Lark Kennedy was young when his father, lvin, died, and his mother, Kristina, never really spoke of him. His uncle, Bruce, said he died in a car accident, when his mother insisted it was a rather unlucky chance of a bad guy's bad day. A murder- it was assumed of. His fathers last name was Kennedy, and his mother took it when they got married.. But he was so young, after his father died, his mother changed her and her sons name to her maiden name, Williams.
Lark Williams is 47 now; and with his job, he's well waiting to retire, but they never stop calling. Lark looked well off for his age, but his appearance begged to differ. His clothes were always different, yes, but always were rags- and then the occasional year where he would only wear suits. He liked to try on suits. Lark was a small man- standing at a measly 4'11, and often used that to his highest advantage. He called children the 'minds of civilization'. They control the community, and the parents may not realize it, but the government does.
Parents don't need playgrounds or duck toys to help themselves relax and laugh, that's what booze is for, of course. Men like Lark were often at the parks- but Lark didn't have a child, and he didn't intend to. He watched the children, analyzing their behavior- how they speak, and even how they operate their fingers. He watched them with the parents- how differently they would behave.
He learned alot from the children, admittedly. But the parents didn't like it so much. They started seeing him a lot more, and they always assumed he was there for his children- as it seemed he was too young for grandchildren, which was, of course, very true. One beautiful day where the clouds seemed to be tears in the infinite blue blanket of the sky, a woman sat down on the bench next to Lark. She seemed to be maybe 54, only eleven years older than himself. She wore a brown cardigan and bell bottom jeans, and fondly watched her two young grandchildren (they seemed too young to be children) play on the playground. After a while of him watching no one in particular, she turned to him, eager to have a conversation in the otherwise empty place.
"Which one is yours?" She asked him, not really into the conversation in the first place. There were only fifteen kids there, seventeen counting hers.
"None," He spared a glance at her. She glanced at him, her eyes flashing of distrust, but politely didn't accuse him of anything- until she got to know him, at least.
She nodded slowly. "I see you around here often." She said so subtle and accusatory that even Lark had to give her pride for that. "Usually around this time." The large 'clocktower' on the playground read exactly 11am.
"I often come for my morning strolls." He told the woman. He nodded to his cup of coffee on the ground beside him. "I tend to hit the cafe before it gets too late in the day. I don't like large crowds." he picked up the thermos and took a small sip, just watching.
"Why stop here, then?" She asked, now curious. It seemed like her mind had stopped being so suspicious, which relieved Lark. He'd met a couple of protective mothers. Lark didn't answer, simply pointing to the children.
Lark then answered, realizing that the gesture could be taken wrongly. "Happy children," He said simply. "I study humans and the way they act." That was partially true. He did it, yes, but he never actually attended schooling for it. He learnt better with his own eyes than when someone just told him a child wants candy. Children want more than that. Love, care, and someone to provide that. He had learnt that not from the children, but from himself.
The woman didn't press, just quietly sitting there. Her grandchildren eventually ran over, and that's when Lark went to leave. He didn't want the grandmother to feel uncomfortable, so he tried to be polite. "Gran'ma," The little girl called, skipping over happily. She looked about seven, and her clothes proved that. The gray shirt had little Hello Kitty prints on it, and the skirt was a plain white, going long past her knees, with pink leggings and white shoes that glowed up when she walked. The older boy, maybe 11, was wearing a plain beige shirt, blue jeans, and shoes that would make the boys in the grade above jealous. "When are we going home?" The girl continued, her sweet voice calling like a melody to the grandmother.
"Soon, Rosie." She gently tapped the girl's nose, which caused Rosie to squeal with delight. "Grandpa bought you two a puzzle. You have to share, though." The boy groaned and the girl perked up, excited.
"See! We have to share!" Rosie giggled and the boy flicked her, grinning a bit. His teeth were just a perfect white, shining like pearls.
"Jimmy, don't flick your sister," Their grandmother chided. Rosie stuck her tongue out at her brother and that's when Lark was just moving away, finally. He was watching their conversation, he never got to be so close to the conversations with parents, so this was easier for his learnings. He often wrote things down, but today he didn't want to make a bad impression. Especially for a girl named Rosie.
The name seemed to strike a nerve for the man, and just thinking about it made him walk faster. Rosie. His mind kept replaying the name, over and over again. He knew why, of course, but it was too painful to think about. Lark couldn't spare any more memories in his already tiring life.
He had just escaped that name. That memory that was always there, chiding at him, waiting for him to help resurface that. But he knew that when he did, the memory would come bubbling up like an underwater volcano.
"Excuse me, sir?" A voice called from behind him when he finally reached the path that would eventually take him home. Lark paused and looked behind. There stood the little girl, with her brother right beside her, holding her hand. "You dropped something," She said quietly, walking over with her brother swiftly following. She held a loonie. It was like a million dollars to a seven year old.
"You can keep it," Lark's voice said for him. He wouldn't take it, anyways. She was young, and who knows if it was even him who dropped it. Rosie's eyes lit up like golden coins.
"Really?" The girl said excitedly and Jimmy gave her a tired look. He took the coin from her and just pocketed it. "He said I could have it!" She yelped, reaching into his pocket but he swatted her hand away. She pouted at him, then took off the other way on the path, back towards the playground. "Gran'ma, Jimmy stole my money!" She called, almost in tears.
Jimmy ran off before Lark could even say a word to him. You're welcome, kid. Lark sighed in annoyance, just walking.
He eventually made it to his home. It was a rather large townhouse, with large glass windows and stone pathway with a large garden that was forever abandoned. It was more than twelve years ago that it was blooming with flowers, but then he had help. Now he was alone. The driveway was empty, and the garage was full of boxes of his old stuff. He opened the door to his house, the coffee suddenly unappetising to him, so he just emptied it down the sink.
His cell phone rang, but he just left it like that, sitting down on an armchair and clicking on the TV remote, just sitting there and watching cartoons. All of his photos were covered up with sheets, and strangely even the sofa, as if they were too dangerous to touch. For him, they were.
His cell phone didn't stop ringing.
It didn't stop for half an hour. Lark eventually stood up, walking across the wooden floor and grabbed the cellphone. He saw the caller and sighed.
"We got you a job, Doctor Williams." The caller said, a detectable smirk on his face as he said that. Lark paused. He told them no more. They won't listen, and so they won't stop.
"I'm not a doctor, junior." He said, sitting down with the phone as he continued to watch his show.
"You are if you accept the job, Williams." There was another noise; like someone scuffling around. Mumbling. Muffled speaking in the background.
Lark paused at that, and sighed. "What's the pay, Keiran." He leaned back in his chair, suddenly wishing he hadn't dumped the coffee into the sink.
"One and a half million." Lark would've spit out the coffee if he had it. Keiran sounded serious, but that would've meant the job was either against Lark's agreement, or too dangerous.
YOU ARE READING
You Dropped This, Mister
HorrorLark Williams is a man who lives by his own rules. He spends his mornings in the park, observing children and learning from their behavior. But when he receives a job offer as a trained killer with a pay of one and a half million dollars, Lark finds...
