Don't Let Jimmy Die

He woke with a throbbing headache. His eyes opened slowly, just like a mole. The first thing that was in his direct vision was a model of a WWII aeroplane, stuck to the ceiling with rope.

He sat up, lifting his body forward against the pillow and the bed frame, and looked around the room. There was an old scuffed up desk sat in the corner, just books and schoolwork piled up on top of each other. A tired old wardrobe, dark brown wood in the other corner and many other toys, such as trains on the floor. Toy soldiers lay on their backs. A monkey toy clasping a set of percussion instruments in its lap sat straight up on the floor.

Standing up, he could vaguely hear television noises from below him. Everything around him was as if he’d stepped into the 1950s. He went out of the room and made his was downstairs, into what would have been the sitting room, as the television stood in the middle surrounded by sofas and chairs. The television was miniature, playing some comedy show in black and white, on the floor on an old reddish rug, sat a young girl playing with dolls, one in each hand mumbling to herself. The room was painted a pale aqua green colour, with the fireplace lined with flower-patterned wallpaper.

“You’re awake!” She looked up and bounded towards him, only coming up to his thighs, and hugged him tightly.

He was confused. Who was this young girl giving him attention?

“Daddy wanted you back in the garage.”

“Dad... daddy?’

He didn’t question anything, just continued walking in a straight line, heading to the door in front of him. It creaked open, only darkness greeted him.

“What are you doing Jimmy? The Garage is that way” She pointed in the opposite direction, the doll still held tightly in her small hand.

“Right, yeah, I know.” He hoped he just sounded tired and forgetful, but he had no clue what was happening.

The house wrapped around like a maze, one of the corridors had a window, which looked out to the rest of the house. He found a concrete room, with an old, dark blue, Ford Anglia sat in the middle of it. He stepped in to see a blue uniform sticking out from under it.

“I’ve not seen one of these in years.”

The blue shape pulled out, revealing an older man with a combed over quiff in his hair, brown and slightly greasy from the amount of gel put on it.

“What are you talking about Jimmy?” He said, looking at him from below. “We’ve only just got this car, it’s brand new, I thought you were gonna help me?”

“Me? Oh no, I can’t, no I’m not into things like this.”

“Of course, you can! Real men have gotta learn this stuff, you had no problem yesterday.”

But that was the problem, he couldn’t remember yesterday, he didn’t even know his name was Jimmy until a few moments ago.

“Grab a wrench on the side and help me.” He stretched his arm out over to a wooden workstation, covered in tools.

He knew what a wrench was at least. All his general knowledge seemed to have stayed inside his mind, it was just personal memory he couldn’t remember. As he crouched on the dirty concrete floor, sat next to his supposed father, who was lying flat under the car, he was met with metal, dark and lighter with no clue what any of it meant. He reluctantly held the wretch out, towards one of the metal components, to his surprise, it seemed as though his hands had become detached from his mind, working, and watching as if they belonged to someone else.

He slid out from under the car, getting on his knees, it was too surreal, he had to be in a dream, things like this don’t happen.

“Where you goin?’ Father slid out, watching him running out of the garage in hysterics.

He rushed back up the stairs and into the room he had awoken in, flying towards the covers, and diving inside, his body curled into a ball, willing himself back to sleep.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” He cried over and over swaying from side to side.

The cover was yanked of him and an older woman stared down, worryingly. She was beautiful. She had pale skin and rouge lips with silver pearls around her neck. She wore a large petticoat dress, the colour of the sea.

“Oh dear, you’ve made a mess.” She pulled him from the bed covers and out of bed, showing slight pee stains on the white sheets.

He felt as if he had been shot. Being shot may have been a better option than seeing the state of his accident, as if he were a small child.

“Not to worry Jimmy, I’ll clean it up, but first come down to the kitchen, let's talk.”

She guided him down the staircase, back through the sitting room, where the little girl still happily hummed to herself, stroking her dolls hair. They entered the kitchen. The cabinets were all mint green, the walls a soft blue colour. The entire room was a pastel dream.

“Sit.” She gently pointed to the dining table, round, also mint, with four mint plastic chairs tucked under.

He took a seat, soon after she did the same, sitting opposite him and taking his hand that was resting on the table. She took his palm within both her own and began to stroke slowly.

“Now, tell me the problem.”

He looked back blankly, then memorized by her soft strokes.

“I, I just...”

“It's okay, you can tell your mother anything.”

He retracted his hand, standing at a halt.

“My mother?’

“Yes, now Jimmy please, just sit down, I can’t help you if you're pacing around.”

He sat as quickly as he had rose.

“I don’t know, I’m just so confused.” He tried to hold back tears but thinking of everything, just made it all stream out.

“Come on now, men shouldn’t cry, tell me properly what’s happened.”

“Nothing’s happened per se, I just feel odd.”

She chuckled. “Oh Jimmy, that’s alright, that’s just a part of growing up! You’ll figure it out.”

He wiped the tears, that were now staining his cheeks, with the back of his hand.

“I’ve got a job for you, can you please deliver these cookies to the police station, Sheriff Hall will be there.”

He nodded. It seemed better than fixing cars, he could easily deliver baked goods to police, no problem. He just had to find out exactly where it was.

“Good man, there just on the countertop, by the back door.” She extended her arm and just as she had said, was a beautiful packaged woven basket of cookies.

The weather was unusually warm and sunny, which didn’t make much sense, as he couldn’t remember being here. The lawn was perfectly trimmed, strips of light and dark green grass in one large patch. A mint green umbrella, sat in the centre, surrounded by metal chairs around a metallic table, a BBQ sat just a few meters away.

The streets looked polished, as if someone had come along with a mop and vanished the dirt away. Each house lining the streets looked the same. The same manicured lawn and pastel-coloured bricks, with one or no cars outside the garage. His house, or whatever he could call it, was light blue with no cars parked, as he knew the car was being worked on by his supposed father.

He looked around the neighbourhood for any sign of a police station, but everything was so still, in fact, the only sound that Jimmy could hear, was the faint water sprinklers from some of the front yards.

He couldn’t ask anyone anyway, a local town, with people knowing all your business. If they knew him before, to ask where the police station was, in the town he supposedly grew up in, may get some funny looks and gossip in the streets. He wandered around the houses, hoping he would reach an ending, turning a corner to the right he ended up on the side of the main street. Right in front of him stood a large building, overpowering the other stores. The building was old, bricked, with a few stairs leading up to the entrance. The Post Office building, with the words at the very top reading: ‘TRADING POST’

Further along, when Jimmy crossed to the other side of the street, stood a café, again with the words swinging outside on a wooden board, this time reading ‘CAFÉ’. Two male voices from behind him, chatted away. Jimmy span around, to see two older men dressed smartly. Beige coloured pants and an off-white shirt, under a light brown jacket with a button on their left reading:

“DEPUTY SHERIFF MILLER”

“Police!” He said aloud to himself, running up to them crossing in between them both.

“Jimmy! How you been doin’ lately?” The deputy asked.

He hesitated to look at the basket in his hands.

“Are they for me?” The other officer said, laughing, pretending to sneak a cookie for himself.

“Sheriff Hall? Do you know if he’s in?”

“Ah so Mrs Davies cookies are for Hall, are they? He’s just inside working at the back.”

They both tried to sneak inside the basket again. They seemed friendly, too friendly.

The inside of the police station was dark and unwelcoming. There was a wilting potted plant on one of the cabinets gathering dust, it didn’t even look plastic. The walls were low and grey, holding up a dull ceiling with dimly lit lights. The floor was dark brown. The whole place looked as though all colour had vanished here.

Right in front of him, at a desk, looking rather formal, sat a large, fat, bald man, probably in his late 60’s, give or take a few years. He was typing on a typewriter, which looked large and clumpy.

“Sheriff Hall?” He edged closer; basket outstretched.

The older man looked over the paper in the typewriter, which was exactly at his eye level. He wore large black glasses framing his face and double chin.

“Jimmy!” He beamed. He looked at the basket Jimmy held on to with both hands. “Is that? Is that what I think it is?”

“I mean if you were expecting cook...”

“Double chocolate chip cookies! My favourite!” He snatched the basket away violently, like an excited child on its birthday, staring at the contents. “Oh, your mother does know me well.”

The way he said the last part struck Jimmy as slightly strange, it was the tone in which he said it. But rather than debate this lucid dream town, he didn’t dwell too much on it.

“Need anything else?” Hall said, his mouth already full of cookies.

“No... I don’t think so... except...” Something odd was happening to him once again, he could feel it. Something inside his head wanted to ask for a small payable job here doing errands. It seemed odd, as no one had previously discussed this with him, so how would he know? The only way he could describe the feeling, was it was as if he was an animal with primal urges to do things, as though it were built inside. This building also gave him a funny feeling, the town itself was creepy enough, but the station just smelt musty, as if people were dead around him. Hall gave him strange feelings too. Everything inside him was saying no, but this niggling feeling deep in his brain defied him.

“Do you have any odd jobs I could do?” He spoke up.

“Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know when we do.”