The Protagonist

Gordon watched in horror from outside of the car as the dead tore a hunk of flesh from his wife, Junie’s, face, frozen in fear as she begged him to shoot her. Selfishly, he kept the last bullet to himself and just before she died, he witnessed pure hatred animating from her eyes. Backing slowly away from the car, he ran, her hateful gaze burned forever into his brain..

Jackson E. Fletcher leaned back in his computer chair and sighed. Oh, he was going to catch hell for this for sure. You don’t just kill off a beloved main character without hate email, death threats and a chance his publisher might just drop him. But to be honest, he was quite sick of Junie Fletcher and her sickly sweet personality. She bored him to tears. Picking up his coffee, he blew on the steaming brew, the delectable odor making his mouth water. He thanked his lucky stars for his new housekeeper, Florence, Flo for short, who took care of the house and his seven-year-old son, Ian, as he typed away in his computer room in the finished basement. Just as he raised the java to his mouth, a familiar voice made him jump, spilling coffee on his shirt.

“You could have given me a more dignified death, Jack.”

That voice! Junie? It couldn’t be, he thought, this is some kind of joke!

“Nope,” the Junie voice argued, “No joke.”

Jack spun around in his chair and there she sat on his printer table, legs crossed at the knee, her lopsided, zombie food face smiling triumphantly at his shocked look.

“But I killed you!” he reasoned, “You’re dead!”

“Yeah, well, I seem to have a little problem with that,” she said, jumping off the table, “See, I’m not ready to die. Especially not by being eaten by Goddamn zombies. Seriously, Jack? Zombies? Could you possibly get any lamer than that?”

“Sorry, Junie,” Jack apologized, “In an apocalyptic world, no one is safe, not even main characters. Besides, to be frank, you were getting boring. You’re stale and bromidic, I can’t even hold back the yawns when I write you in, imagine how my readers must feel?”

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” she purred, “Don’t you know you can’t kill me? You know why?”

Standing in front of him, she palm-smacked his forehead.

“Cuz I’m in here, silly,” she laughed gaily, twirling around, and as she did, a piece of her ear fell onto the ground, “Oops, you got me falling apart now, dammit.”

“Junie, I’m not changing my mind, so you might as well go chill wherever it is that dead characters go and stop your infernal chatting. It’s giving me a headache.”

Standing up, Jack went to the fridge to grab an ice-cold beer. Shutting the door, he jumped as Junie stood there, hands on her hips.

“You can’t just get rid of me that easily, Jack,” she persisted, “It doesn’t work that way. If I don’t want to go, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Jack ignored her, wondering if his wife, Tyler, was home from work yet. As if on cue, he heard the clickety-clack of her high heels on the tiled floor as she flitted from room to room. Probably checking on Ian, making sure he l made sure he locked the door behind him, hopefully leaving Junie behind.

“Tyler?” he called to his wife, “Where are you?”

“Up here, babe,” her voice sounded so good, “in Ian’s room. Come on up and join us.”

He took the stairs two at a time, peeking his head into his son’s room. Ian’s eyes lit up when he saw his father, his grin a mile wide

“Daddy!” he squealed, “Can you read tonight? You don’t mind, right mommy?”

Tyler laughed, rumpling her son’s hair. “No, of course not, honey, daddy will read, right daddy?”

She gave Jack the eye, and he sat on the bed with them.

\“Okay, what are we reading tonight,” he asked, “The Little Princess?”

“No!” Ian snorted indignantly, “No way!”

“My Little Pony?” Jack teased, winking at his wife.

“Daaaad! Stoooop!” Ian giggled, brow wrinkled in a fake frown, “Read “The Monster Under My Bed”, okay?”

“Okay, bud,” Jack laughed, “Got Monkey?”

Ian nodded, holding his stuffed animal close under his chin as he had since he was two years old.

“He’s awfully cute, Jack,” a voice behind Tyler said.

Jack looked up, not only startled but a little uneasy at Junie’s unexpected appearance in his son’s room. His eyes shooting daggers at her, he started the story for his son.

“I never realized what a good father you are, Jack,” Junie interrupted, “Your son is entranced. And look at your pretty little wife! Nice looking family, for sure.”

“Shut up,” Jack hissed, without looking at her.

“What did you say, Jack?” Tyler asked, “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

Jack laughed nervously, throwing Junie a quick dirty look, “Sorry, and no, I was, umm….oh, never mind. Not important. Hey! Why don’t you pick a movie for us to watch tonight and I’ll tuck little buddy here in bed tonight.”

“Actually, Jack, I’m really exhausted tonight, Jack,” Tyler told him, “I had the longest, most discouraging day today. You finish up with Ian and I’m jumping in the shower and heading to bed. Please don’t be too long, I want to cuddle.”

Tyler, an RN, worked in the trauma unit at St. Mary’s Hospital and he knew some of the things she witnessed took its toll on her mentally.

“Daddy! Come on!” Ian complained, tugging on his father’s shirt, “Finish the story!”

Tyler handed Jack his son’s book, kissed Ian on the forehead and Jack on the cheek, rumpling his longish, light brown hair before she left the room.

“Awww, how sweet is she,” Jack heard a familiar voice behind him, “I wonder, do you think you’ll be bored of her a few years down the road? Start yawning as she talks? Start looking for younger, uuh, stuff?”

Jack ignored her, continuing to read until his son’s head drifted slowly to his chest. As he put the book on the nightstand, he heard Ian’s sleepy voice.

“Daddy,” he slurred just before his long, dark lashes kissed his freckled cheeks, “Who’s that lady behind you?”

Jack’s eyes widened at that and he turned to Junie accusingly.

“How did he see you?” he demanded, “Why was he even able to?”

“Because children can see the unseen, Jack,” Junie told him, “Ever wonder why kids claim monsters live under the bed or in the closet? They’re not lying, you know. When you create us, we become. You can’t just sweep us under the rug as if we never were.”

“But I’m the author!” Jack argued, “That’s my prerogative! I created you, I should be able to take you out! Now please, go back to wherever it is that dead characters go and just accept it!”

“Oh, Jack,” Junie shook her head softly, “You, my friend, are clueless. When all is said and done, don’t say I didn’t tell you so. Don’t you dare.”

Ian mumbled something in his sleep and Jack turned to see if he was awake. Seeing his son’s eyes still shut, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Junie, only to find she’d disappeared. Standing up, he went to the window and looking out into the street, he wondered what she meant about being clueless. Was there really a place, a physical place, where dead characters went? But his ultimate question was; were they able to come back? Sighing, he joined his wife in bed, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed before he, too, walked in dreamland.

Jack’s job in the morning was to get Ian for school, give him breakfast and take him to the bus stop on time. Instead of the normal battle of wills about getting up, he was shocked and pleasantly surprised to see his son sitting at the table all dressed and eating a bowl of cereal.

“Well look at you!” he praised Ian as he poured himself a cup of coffee, “Up and dressed without me even having to tell you!”

“Junie got me up, daddy,” Ian said around a mouthful of cereal.

Jack’s face blanched and he almost dropped the coffee cup he got out of the dish rack after realizing he never made coffee. Sitting down next to Ian, he leaned in close to his son.

“Ian,” he began, “tell daddy how she got you up, what she did. Where did she come from?”

“She came from under my bed, daddy,” he answered, “Just like the monsters do. Did you know they live under the bed, daddy?”

“Did she hurt you, buddy?”

“No, daddy, why would she do that?” Ian asked, “She picked out my clothes and made my bed and she even tied my shoelaces. I like her, dad, can she live with us?”

“No!” Jack said loudly. Calming down he spoke softer, “She cannot live with us because she’s not real. Do you hear me, Ian? She’s make-believe, just like Joopy, remember Joopy?”

“Joopy is real, too, daddy,” Ian talked like a grown-up trying to teach a child, “See, only kids can see him. That’s how he wants it. He lives in the in between, just like Junie.”

Jack mulled that over in his head, refusing to believe what his son was telling him.

“So, let me get this straight, Ian,” he continued, “There’s a place where things go that are make-believe or made up?”

”Yes,” Ian nodded, “But daddy, I know a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yup, but Junie says it’s not time to tell you yet,” Ian chewed on his spoon, smiling softly around it, “We better leave now, daddy, or we’ll miss the bus.”

Jack nodded, his face a mask of worry and confusion. What the hell was going here, he thought, putting on his jacket. Ian pushed away from the table, grabbed his lunch and backpack, and headed out to the car.

As Jack drove, Ian’s chatter in the back seat became a blur of words as the morning’s events played over in his mind.

“Get ready, daddy,” Ian said loudly, “It’s time.”

“What?”

Suddenly, Jack’s world exploded with the sound of screeching tires, grinding metal, and shattering glass. Darkness took over….

Jack woke to the sound of his alarm going off and groaned. Rolling over, he slammed his hand down on the offending clock and sat up abruptly, remembering. Leaping out of bed, he ran to Ian’s room and finding it empty, he descended the stairs two at a time and found his son in the kitchen.

“Ian! You’re up!” he exclaimed, “What happened? How did we end up here? Are you alright?”

“Daddy, what are you talking about,” Ian said, giggling around a mouthful of cereal, “Of course I’m alright.”

“Did your mom leave for work already?” Jack asked, his mind in a state of confusion, “How did we…?”

He went to the kitchen window and saw the car sitting in the driveway without a scratch. Turning back to Ian, he was shocked to see an empty seat. No sign of a bowl or a box of cereal or his son’s backpack.

“What the fuck is going on!” he screamed, “What’s happening here?”

“Welcome to my world, Jack,” a familiar voice said softly.

Whirling around, he saw Junie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes full of pity.

“I don’t understand,” Jack told her, “Where’s Ian? Where’s my wife? I was in an accident but the car looks like it’s never left the driveway.”

“That’s what it’s like, Jack when you’ve been written out,” Junie tried to explain, “Everything you’ve ever known is just gone. Poof!” she snapped her fingers, “Just like that.”

“I’m the writer!” Jack shouted at her, grabbing her by the shoulders roughly, “I make the decisions on who gets written out or killed off! Me! The author!”

“But are you the author, Jack?” Junie asked, pushing his hands away, “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Jack yelled, not sure at all about anything, “You’re not even real, and where the hell is my son!”

Junie was about to answer when the room spun sickeningly, sending Jack into a vortex of sound and darkness. He woke in a strange room to the clickety-clack sounds of a keyboard. Curious, he followed the signs to a small room and saw a man at a computer typing away. Walking up behind him, he spotted his name on the screen.

“Who are you?” he said, getting no reaction, he spoke louder, “Who are you! Why is my name on your computer?”

The man continued to ignore him and Jack actually read some of what was on the computer screen, sitting down heavily when he did:

“No! This isn’t real!” Jack yelled through his tears, “Where’s my son? My wife?”

“Time to go, Jack,” Junie took the weeping man’s hand gently, “Time to go.”

”Where?” he sobbed, staring over his shoulder as Junie led him away, “

“Some of us choose to sleep,” she answered gently, “until it's time.”

“Time?” he asked, “Time for what?”

“The next chapter, of course,” she said, her eyes boring into his, “If you’re lucky.”

“Then what?”

“You become part of nothing,” she said, her eyes filled with sadness, “You

nothing.”

They came to a red door and Junie nodded at him.

“Time to go, Jack,” she prodded him forward.

Just as his hand touched the knob, he felt a strong pull away from it and he was suddenly sucked into a vortex of some sort and his world went black. Moments or years, maybe, he didn’t know, he was sitting at his own kitchen table opposite his son, Ian.

“Ian!” he exclaimed, his eyes filling with tears of joy, “You’re here!

here!”

“Daddy,” Ian laughed, “You’re so funny! Of course, I’m here!”

“What about Junie?” Jack asked, “Where is she?”

“Who’s Junie, daddy?”

“Oh, never mind,” Jack told his son, “It doesn’t matter.”

In the farthest reaches of his mind, Jack thought he heard the sound of computer keys tap tap tapping away and he knew if that sound stopped, he could lose everything and become nothing. Just like that, in a matter of hours, Jack’s whole concept of life was flipped upside down and he was left floundering in confusion. He wasn’t the captain of his soul or of anything else for that matter. He was a writer, within a writer, within a writer. Forever.