Westpoint Tales

by Kiwi

Jon & Bobby's Tale - 14

As soon as they emerged from the shelter of the tree-lined path and came out by the rubber-coated running track, they were accosted by a group of the town's worst bullies, flexing their muscles.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? You've been told before, Little Lion Cubs, you're not allowed in this park."

"Yeah. That's our job - keeping the Nancy-boys out of the Square."

"We've told you. Now we're going to have to show you what happens when you don't listen!"

One of them made a grab for Bobby, but missed as he ducked around behind the chair.

"Stop it!" Jon snapped. "Stop it now. Leave the kids alone!"

"Or what? What are you going to do about it? You're broken, little shark-Killer. You've fought one too many battles and you lost. You're good for nothing but a sex-toy for the Nancy-boys now."

Jon whistled.

"What are ya? Mad?"

"Do you know how many seagulls it takes to kill a sheep?" He looked up at the toughs.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You're a bloody loony!"

"You don't know? It takes three. Three seagulls to kill a sheep, sometimes less.

"We don't see what the fuck that's got to do with anything, Loony!"

"You still don't know? How many seagulls does it take to kill a man? Or, four little bullies?"

"What???"

"What the hell?"

Jon grinned, evilly, and said, "Look up."

"Look up at what? . . . Whoah!!"

They looked up. Everyone in the Square looked up, and they all stood staring silently, mouths agape. A big, a huge and rapidly growing, cloud of seagulls was circling around in the air above them. An immense, feathered, black, white and grey tornado was forming above the Square.

The growing cloud of birds was moving, soaring and swirling like a huge and silent looming, threatening storm above them. There were hundreds. There were thousands of them.

"How many seagulls?" Jon asked again. He held out one hand, straight and level, and a small, grey gull floated down to rest, standing on his arm Head cocked to one side, its steely little eyes looked at the frightened faces.

"Not that many, actually," Jon continued. "I think you'd better leave now, very quietly but very quickly. Don't come back into the Square again, you're not allowed in here now."

"Come on, Guys."

The four not-so-toughs left. Slowly and gingerly at first, they were running by the time they left the park.

Jon raised his hand. The seagull lifted off and flew away. All the great cloud of birds melted away and flew off as quietly as they had come.

"Let's go home, Boys."

They started rolling again, went past all the staring eyes and out the other side of the Square.

"Wow, Jon! Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks. We were going to get a pounding there."

"Nobody's pounding my friends while I'm around."

"That was amazing, Jon."

"Amazing and scary. Were you going to have them attack those thugs?"

"Attack them? No, of course not. I couldn't do that. They're just birds, not robots. They might have though if they touched me."

"What did you do then?"

"What happened there?"

"I just called a few birds. I distress-called them."

"A few birds? There were bloody thousands of them up there!"

"There was. I called a few, they called some more and they called more and they kept on coming. They were just soaring around, looking to see what was happening. Which, of course, was nothing. Let's go home now."

"Nothing happening? That was the scariest nothing that I've ever seen."

They went home. Walking up the road, Billy shook his head. "Amazing, Jon. If you were only bluffing, I'd hate to play Poker against you."

"Poker? That's a card game, isn't it? I've never played that."

"Well you should," Bobby said. "You'd be good at it. Really good when it came to bluffing."

"Yeah. We'll teach you sometime," Billy grinned. "We'll teach you to play Strip-Poker, that'll be fun!"

By the time they got back home, Mrs. Lyons had already heard all about the latest escapade. The gossip-grapevine was working overtime, and she was not happy about it. After they had settled Jon back into his bed, they went to the kitchen and she grilled them and let them know what she thought.

She knew; of course she knew that that she should have been grateful that their friend was so easily able to protect her boys, even from his wheelchair. But . . well, he was just so dammed weird! She hated having the whole town talking about her family.

Over the next week, everything changed again and it was not good. Some of it was really bad.

On Monday, Jon went to the hospital for a check-over and the doctors were very pleased his progress. They removed his clumsy full-body cast and it was replaced by a new high-grade and light-weight plastic truss that reached from his waist to his knees.

His legs were joined together by a strut just above the knees which held them in place, slightly apart and immobilized. At this rate, in another couple of weeks, he'd be freed completely. Jon was delighted and he couldn't wait.

The physiotherapist also fitted him with crutches - long, under-the-shoulder, crutches that he could stand upright on and swing along for short distances. Life was good.

On Tuesday, it started turning to custard. At dinnertime, in the early evening, Jon was lying alone in his bedroom while the family were eating out in the kitchen. Nobody thought of it, but he could hear every word, thanks to the baby-monitors that the boys had put all around the house. They even had a pair in his room and theirs so that they could lie in bed and talk in the night..

Bobby's birthday was coming up soon, on the 13th. They were discussing plans for a celebration. He wanted a party as he had so many friends to invite now. There was the usual, annual joking about how they were going to be twins again, for two months. Somehow, the subject of Jon's age came up and Mrs. Lyons went right off! Here, at last, was a reason not to like him.

"He is what?? He's 18? He's bloody 18!! He is not a boy at all, he's a man. He's years older than you two.

What the hell's wrong with him? Hanging around with kids at his age! He's a bloody pedophile. Has he touched you? Either of you? Has he ever touched you - down there?"

Billy and Bobby both leapt to his defence, but it was too late, the damage had already been done. In his room, Jon quietly turned off the monitor and he lay crying into his pillow.

Mrs. Lyons' angry words had touched a nerve in him. He'd always felt that he was too old to be their friend. He hated pedophiles, but maybe he was one of them.

"Mum, don't be disgusting! Of course he hasn't 'touched' us. Jon wouldn't do that. He wouldn't!"

"But no-one's going to stop him if he changes his mind."

"Billy! What are you saying?"

"He's not that old. Jon is only just over 2 years older than me and 3 years older than bobby. That's no big deal, Dad's 5 years older than you are."

"Mine and your father's ages have got nothing to do with it. You, Young Man, are underage and he is not. He's an adult, and that's illegal."

"Damm, Mum!" Bobby exploded. "It's only illegal if he's done anything and he hasn't - he wouldn't! We don't care how old he is, we love him and that's all there is to it."

"You love him? He is a man. He's too old for you."

"He is not. He is not. He bloody is not!" Bobby ran out of the kitchen and up to his room to fling himself across the bed and cry - angry, frustrated tears.

Billy was livid now. His face was white and angry as he stood and spat his words. "Now look at what you've done! If Dad is not too old for you, then Jon is not too old for us. And he isn't! He might be 18, but he's just a kid. He is a lot more innocent than we are."

Billy left as well. He went up to their room to comfort and cry with his brother.

"He's right. Look at what you've done, Claire. You've just upset everybody. So what if the kid is 18?"

Claire could be stubborn too. "So what? It is illegal. I didn't write the laws. Jon is an adult and the boys are underage. He is a pedophile and I want him out of my house. You can take him back to the bloody hospital and keep him there. I don't want him anywhere near my boys."

She got her wish. Even with the monitor turned off, Jon could hear the upraised voices in the kitchen. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled a hasty note to the boys. Then he got out of bed and onto the crutches.

He slid he door open and went outside, carefully closing it behind him. Then he left.

He actually got a fair speed up as he swung along on the crutches, crying his eyes out, and he went home. He went all the way across town to the Beachhouse. There, he laid down on the stairs and, unseen by anyone, slowly dragged himself all the way up to his room..

Billy and Bobby composed themselves and they came downstairs to undress their patient and get him ready for bed, but he was not there. His untouched meal was still on the tray and there was a note on the pillow.

"What the?" Billy snatched up the note, unfolded and read it, and then he grabbed Bobby's arm to drag him back to the kitchen to confront their mother and appeal to their father.

"Jon's gone and it's all your fault!"

"What do you mean, Jon's gone? He can't be. His wheelchair is right there in the living-room."

"Maybe it is, but he's gone and the crutches have gone too. Go and have a look if you don't believe me."

"Dad?" Bobby was crying again. "How far can he go on crutches without hurting himself?"

"I don't know, Son. Probably not far. The crutches were meant to be to get him on his feet and around the house at the most. Let me see that note. Did he say where he was going?"

Dr. Lyons took the note and he read it aloud. "Dear Bobby and Billy. It is time for me to go now. I should not have stayed this long, maybe I shouldn't have come at all, but I do appreciate everything that you've done for me. You have been very special friends and you have saved my life, several times over.

Thank you for everything. I will never forget what you have done for me. Please tell your family that I said thank you to them as well.

Goodbye, my friends. I won't be back. Jon."

"Well! What do we say?"

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