Daddy

Prologue: The Good Provider

The pen flows so smoothly over the paper, Jimmy thought with wonder. As always. The rush he felt as the words seemed to write themselves was indescribable. Another bestseller, he thought, once he was done for the night. Thank you, Kirsten. I'll finish your story in a few more days. He locked the pen in his safe. He stretched and turned out the light before heading upstairs. He looked in on the kids one last time. Once in bed, he let his mind relax in the complete darkness of his bedroom.

He was sore in the morning when he got up. He placed his hand on the small of his back and stretched before heading to the kids' rooms to wake them. His hand hurt, too, and he stretched it - open, closed, open, closed, wiggling his fingers. Less than two hours of sleep, he thought. But that was ok.

He walked to his daughter's room, and called, “Julie-babe? Time to get up.” The tween moaned and squirmed, much different from how the terrified woman, Kirsten, moaned and squirmed last night, trying to get out of his grip, just before she had died. He headed over to his son James's room. “Ok, buddy, school,” he called, rapping on the bedroom door. That was all it took, and the eight year old would be up and ready in no time. So energetic, like the runaway kid Jimmy had “taken care of” a year ago...

He continued to the kitchen and began making coffee. He popped waffles in the toaster oven and started on eggs and bacon. With a sigh, he mentally mapped out his day: get the kids to school, come back and get dressed up, go to the bookstore, do the signing, listen to a bunch of gushing fans tell me how great I am and ask how I do it - his heart skipped once, and he gulped - grab some lunch, which the store will probably pay for...after lunch, back to the store for a couple hours, get the kids, then home, dinner, homework, kids in bed...finish the book.

He paused. Did I put the pen back in the safe? Gotta make sure. He jogged to his downstairs office. Anyone finds it and my career is over. He listened for the kids, to make sure they weren't coming into his office for anything, as he worked the lock. The gray and white quill pen was in the safe, in the box he kept it in, and Jimmy sighed with relief. Ok, he thought, heading back to the kitchen. I burned the body, the clothes, I'll decide what to do with the jewelry...man, what about dinner tonight? Spaghetti tacos. Thank you, iCarly, he thought with a snort.

As he made breakfast, poured orange juice, and placed a multivitamin in both the kids places at the table, he thought about the past few years. He'd lost his wife, by his own hands, which of course made his guilt over her death worse, become a single father in a horrible moment of anger, produced a bestseller every nine months or so, and in four years, managed to provide a pretty good life for his children. Too bad his wife had to die for the ball to get rolling. I really didn't mean it, he told himself for the billionth time, feeling a slight ache in his gut. But it worked out, right? I mean, it was a horrible accident, but we've managed to be pretty comfortable because of it...

The kids appeared at the table, James's face lighting up at the sight of the waffles and warm syrup on the table. Julie would never admit it, but he knew she loved his waffles, too, even if they were Eggo. He smiled as he stood at the counter, watching them sit. 

“Alright, eat up guys,” he said. “Say grace first.” When the kids finished the grace they had been reciting since they were toddlers, he asked them, “How did you guys sleep?”

Both the kids said they slept well, and he was genuinely pleased. There was only the hint of guilt at drugging them to ensure they slept soundly while he went out get the “inspiration” to write, to take care of them. What if they woke up and found him gone? 

Can't have that.

James began reciting a dream he probably didn't really have, and Jimmy listened with his eye on the clock. He had to make sure, he had promised his deceased wife, he would be the best dad there was, would not get them late to school, church, wherever, would cook and clean, make loads of money, and just be an awesome father. He'd promised her they would not struggle because of him, because of his mistake.

As James recounted his dream, Jimmy asked questions and made appropriate comments about it. Then, at the end, he said, “Alright, guys, I'm gonna go get ready, and get you guys off to school. Get your teeth brushed and make sure you have all your stuff.” 

He headed upstairs. As he washed his face and brushed his own teeth, he began seeing the images of the past few years, the ones that contributed to his fame.

First his wife. After he'd stabbed her with the quill pen, a reflex when she'd grabbed his arm in anger, her essence, her blood, had flowed from her body, to be sucked up by the pen. Creepy, seeing her body shrivel up like that, her eyes getting wider than he'd ever seen them. The prostitute's eyes had done the same, with her life force being absorbed by the quill pen he'd taken with him that night, for that purpose. The teenage kid he had stabbed with the pen, the same. The college girl from out of town. The homeless guy, who's story wound up being about a man who'd had it all, and lost it through drink and partying...

Jimmy kept the pen safe, and couldn't possibly get rid of it. He used the pen to write their stories for days after, the words flowing silkily, poetic, his hand almost possessed by his victims' life force. It felt good, the writing, and last night was no different. The stories he wrote were about them, his “donors,” and the editors, the readers, ate it all up.

He'd been asked before how he did it, made the characters so real, so full of life, the stories so true. There was the usual pang of guilt. But then he thought of his kids, how fast they were growing, how they needed him, to keep them safe, comfortable...once he'd learned what the pen needed, to give him the stories he produced, to help him take care of the children and pay the bills, he knew he had to keep writing.

That could only happen with the pen, and the pen needed inspiration.

Jimmy finished freshening up, and headed downstairs. Gotta get them to school on time. “Okay, guys, ready to go?” he asked.