Frankenstein's Guide (Book 1, the LiteraTours Cozy Mystery Series)

Chapter 4: For whom the Bell tolls - Part 1

"Talk to me."

Sulking, not talking, was the default mode of a young male on the edge of puberty. For Jon, it would offer an extra layer of protection against a world that was out to get him. But fists, especially when used on smaller boys, were not a solution.

"They said mum was weak in the head and that's why she died. And that she deserved it."

Fury lanced through Gary, wrath at the needless cruelty of kids who had nothing better to do than find a soft spot and then prod and prod until they drew blood.

"Did you tell your teacher that?"

Jon mumbled something unintelligible.

"I can't hear you."

"Ye-es. But she said it was just talk, and I shouldn't be so sensitive."

Another stab of the fury. The biddy he had been tussling with would have been better suited to run a borstal for juvenile delinquents back in the Victorian age. Bristling with righteousness, she had only dealt with the surface symptoms, not the underlying issues. But then he was guilty himself. Guilty of negligence. Overwhelmed by grief, he had submerged himself in the daily struggle of keeping the travel agency afloat at times when people increasingly defected to the internet for their bookings.

LiteraTours had been Emma's brainchild, and he could only hope its creation hadn't triggered that aneurysm. On the other hand, the premise was sound, the bookings were looking great, but the proof was in the pudding as they said. Now that the first tour was on the road, he would soon see if they had a winner. And heavens, he needed a break. No matter how much he tried to massage the figures, save an expense here, tweak a bit there, they still were sailing troubled waters. The tours had to work. They had to.

"Dad?"

"Sorry, Jon. The behaviour of your teacher is appalling. I only wished you'd told me earlier. I'll certainly have a word with Mrs Whatsit again and explain a few things. However, violence is never the right response, do you hear? Can't you just try to ignore these morons?"

Jon's expression shifted, became mulish. "Not when they say nasty things about my mum."

Just two years ago, Gary would have hugged the boy, wiped away the tears and the world would have been a better place. Not anymore, when the shadow of the man Jon was to become was standing between them, keeping them apart.

To heck with it all.

Gary reached across the gulf and put his arm around his son's shoulder. He felt the slim body stiffen, then relax as Jon did the unexpected and threw himself at Gary's chest, breaking into a fresh spell of sobbing. As Gary dug his face into Jon's not so clean hair, rocking the boy in his arm, the shadow vanished, and his baby boy was back. Gary vowed he would do whatever it took to help Jon back on his feet.

A second later, he realised that his job wouldn't be all that easy.

"I killed Mr Mugsy," Jon wailed.

His father looked up and searched the far corner of the room. No cage. No guinea pig. He really should come in here more often.

Gary drew a deep breath. "What happened?"

A sniffle was Jon's only response.

"Come on, tell me. You can't change what happened. But perhaps you can prevent it from happening again?"

A blotchy face rose and faced his. Other than the grey eyes, a Sands family trademark, the boy was the spitting image of Emma, a precious token of her presence on earth.

"I . . . I forgot to feed him. I mean, I cleaned the cage. Well, most of the time. And I always gave him water. But the dry food ran out. I had no money, and you said you had none either. So I went and plucked dandelion leaves. But the guys from my class saw me and they were making comments about how we had to eat grass because mum was dead. So, I didn't pluck the leaves anymore. When I thought of the apples, he was already dead. Lying in his cage. A fly was crawling through his fur," the boy whispered. "That's how I knew he was gone. There were no flies on mum, were there?"

"No. Where did you bury him?"

"In the garden. At night, so the wankers wouldn't see me."

"Language!"

"They are!"

Gary agreed, but he couldn't say that to Jon's face. "How long did Mr Mugsy go without food?"

"A day. Well, maybe two, but he still had the hay, so I thought he would be alright."

Gary rubbed his son's back, feeling even guiltier. The boy shouldn't have had to bury his pet all alone. He took a decision. "Look, seven years is a lot for a guinea pig. He might just have died of old age. Next time you need money, please tell me what it's for. We're not destitute yet. Plucking the dandelion leaves was a clever idea, and as far as your classmates are concerned, I will sort things out. And please, come and see me when things get difficult. Promise?"

Sniff.

"Just take it easy on the aggro, alright? Jon—talk to me. You're not alone."

"I miss mum," Jon mumbled into his shoulder, and his father's heart went straight back to that dark place he thought he had left behind.

"I do too, Jon. Every day."

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.

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 Music is the night I left from Elane. This chapter is dedicated to SakinaNasir5253. Thank you for making me smile!