Write a poem/short story based of a song - Penny Lane

(The song is 'Penny Lane' by the Beatles)

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Chapter 1

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Penny Lane is a small, adorable street situated south off the A562 road in the Mossley Hill suburb of Liverpool, England. The name also applies to the area surrounding the thoroughfare. The habitants barely called it a ‘street’, but an entity. They were all so close, all knowing each other. It was one of the only places in history where the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker all got along more than anywhere else. Penny Lane was a relatively famous place. There had been songs, characters and loads of media named after it. It made sense. It was just a cheesy little street with stuck-together houses and a corny name. There was a school, a firehouse, a police station, a theater, a hospital… and of course, it wasn’t exactly inhabited. The people made Penny Lane Penny Lane, just as much as the name and the buildings. The friendly faces were the main part of that whole place.

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Down at the fire station, there was a gaggle of fire fighters. The main one, the captain, and the most known by everyone - for he was the friendliest - was Adam Beckett. Adam Beckett was a fireman. He was young, smart and he was skillful. More friendly than he should be, Adam was too fast to give people his trust, especially as a fireman. He was very involved in the community and always tried his best to know every name in that town.

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Just across the street from the firehouse of Penny Lane, there was a service shop. At the service shop, there was only one mechanic. After all, it was a small, underpopulated place. They couldn’t afford more than one mechanic. Her name was Donna Hitchcock, a hard-working, loud-mouth with an offensive sense of humor and a remarkably changing attitude. Everyone liked her, she made herself known, but let’s just say that the majority of fist fights may or may not be started by herself.

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Always out walking on Penny Lane, where performers Charlie Mckay and Charlie MacCay. Yes, their names and careers were similar, but as they express repeatedly, they are two very different people. The others of the neighborhood refer to them as Performer 1 and Performer 2. It’s easier that way. Charlie Mckay was a sour, grudge-holding, multi-talented, triple-threat. Sadly, he was competitive and a huge pain in the ass. Charlie MacCay was a hugely talented, emotional, moving, beauty. Sadly, she was competitive and a huge pain in the ass. Both performers spent their days at the Penny Lane Theater.

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Around every day to keep things in check, Officer Elliott Delahaye. The chief police officer of Penny Lane. It was surprising that he was chief. Not because he was incompetent, he was actually one of the most competent people to ever live. He was just very young. He was barely thirty, the same age as Adam Beckett. Due to the age gap, he always tried to be responsible and ethical. He didn’t want the whole outfit to think he was just a kid and let him go. Simply put, he had something to prove.

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Near all the hustle and bustle of the police station, firehouse and service shop, there was the hospital. The hospital held Penny Lane’s main doctor, Dr. Hazel Kinsley. She was everyone’s family doctor, first recommendation and the main name on everyone’s speed dial. An intellectual, you could say. She wasn’t very social, but everyone still loved her. Probably because she was one of three doctors in Penny Lane. That was okay. As long as she was good at her job, which she was. She was calm and collected, and no one could snap her demeanor, or make her crack in any way.

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Down at the school, Kevin Patterson was an elementary school teacher. All the parents had heard and re-heard the name Mr. Patterson to be - supposedly - the greatest teacher of all time. Loved by students, parents and anyone in between, Kevin Patterson was one of the greatest heroes of Penny Lane. He was the perfect mix of brains and creativity, and there was nothing he valued more than an education. Nothing. It was the most important thing to him. That’s why he was a teacher; to ensure the importance of education through the younger generations.

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There was only one bar on Penny Lane. There was only one bartender on Penny Lane. His name was Connor Coleman. Serving alcohol to the habitants of Penny Lane was a rather fun experience. Surprisingly a lot of them were really depressed, despite looking happy. Those reveals would be once in a blue moon, though. It was mostly him breaking up fights between Performer 1 and Performer 2. The faces that walk in and out are embedded in Connor’s brain. He picked up on everything that happened in that bar. He practically received murder confessions. No one told him with words, but they didn’t need to. The body speaks a loud enough language. He picked up on every little thing, unapologetically. He spoke fluent body language, and every little action spoke more than a thousand words.

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At the courtroom of Penny Lane, was the best lawyer in town, Henry Cordovan. He had many qualities, but they were all a major secret to the world. He was best compared to the Terminator, barely any emotion, serious, stern and effective. Anywhere he went, all he wanted to do was his job. Almost no one knew what his voice sounded like. He was cold, but he liked to think of himself as calm, rather than emotionless. Sort of blind to the way everyone else saw him, Henry Cordovan was a brick wall.

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Right across from the Penny Lane school and park, there was the bakery. Full of bread, rolls and cupcakes, the bakery was the main hangout of the young children. Behind such a revered place, was the baker, Emory Scott. Mr. Scott was the second most popular name spoken on the playground and praised to the parents, after Kevin Patterson. In their eyes, he was the saint that passed them sweets. To himself, he was some guy who had failed his life goal and was stuck handing bread rolls to little grubby children. To say that he hated his life was a major understatement. If he could get out of Penny Lane, maybe his life would be better… But he was stuck here. And while he was stuck there, he might as well take it out on others…

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The service shop wasn’t enough for Penny Lane, no, of course not. There were construction workers as well. Currently, the upper part of the hospital was under construction. Jo Feldman, a construction worker, stayed at the hospital for countless hours, doing God knows what - her job, I guess. She hung out at the hospital every day, running into the medical personnel and meeting people. She often saw Dr. Hazel Kinsley, a quick wave and smile being thrown, and the occasional comment. Nothing important, a couple of short interactions. That’s what they exchanged. But to Jo, they were friends. She was a friendly human being. Or maybe more ‘annoying’ than friendly, but anyways. She was still a relatively nice person.

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Taking a break from the careers of Penny Lane, Ace Fisher practically lived in his basement, painting and drawing almost every second of the day. He had light regret for not going to college in order to follow his dream of being a young artist, but it had been almost a decade. Now, he wasn't an artist, he was a thirty-year-old dropout with a broken dream and a pretty good sense of colours. He majored in fingerpainting, and not in anything useful. That didn’t matter, now. All he wanted to do was paint something that became famous and put Penny Lane on the map. Actually, Penny Lane was already on the map. Ace just wanted to put himself on the map. He wanted to prove his parents wrong when they told him that it was a bad idea. He also wanted to prove himself wrong, for he was starting to believe the mantra his parents forced onto him.

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At the head of all this, stood Mayor Mike Donovan. Contrary to all political figures, Donovan was a really good person with Penny Lane’s best interest at heart. He was involved in the community, and his son went to school with all the rest of the children.Oliver Donovan was an idiot. He was ten years old and he was an absolute dimwitted, foolish, moronic, blockheaded, cretin, ninny, imbecile idiot. Being the child of the mayor, you’d think that would give him some brains. It didn’t. He was dumb, even for a kid. Kevin Patterson was his teacher, and even he thought that Oliver Donovan was hopeless. Beyond repair. No matter, he was still a good kid… or at least, he tried. He was contrary to the mayor, a smart - brilliant even - man with a warm personality and an inviting, friendly demeanor.

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The habitants of Penny Lane carried on with their usual antics, the day being no different than any other. The school bell rang, letting all of the children onto the playground. Mr. Patterson watched them, made sure that there was no trouble. Of course, there was never trouble. It grew boring, sometimes. Across the street, Kevin noticed the baker, taking out a large bag of what he assumed was expired bakery items. The baker didn’t make eye contact with anyone, he didn’t want to put the work in, but this time he had no choice. The teacher from the school across the street was waving at him like mad, an annoying smile on his face. Emory Scott grumbled.

“Good morning, Mr. Scott!” exclaimed Patterson, smiling ear-to-ear.

“Shove it, gasbag,” said the baker.

Kevin, still smiling, turned back to his students, sort of confusion entering his system.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be such an asshole,” smirked the bartender from across the street from the bakery, unlocking the door to his bar.

“Maybe you should mind your own Goddamn business, Coleman,” said Emory.

Kevin and the bartender made eye contact and smiled. The fight was won.

“Hey, Coleman, watch your language in front of the children,” said Adam Beckett who was walking by.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Beckett. Did you get the day off?” asked Patterson.

Adam laughed. “I wish… You know how it is…”

The fireman turned his head to the silhouette who was walking by, behind him.

“Morning, Officer Delahaye,” he said.

“Good morning,” the officer nodded to all the people around.

“Hey, Beckett, if they wanted me to watch my language in front of the kids, why’d they put my bar right in front of the elementary school?”

“To make you talk,” joked Adam. “Just shut your mouth until you’re out of earshot, okay?”

“You got it, Beck.”

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Connor did a two-finger salute and went inside his bar. The police officer walked away, as well as the fireman. The baker went inside, and they all said goodbye to each other. At this moment, you’re probably thinking that this town was one like from a movie, or a musical. This was indeed a real place where the people normally acted that way. It was daily, almost. It was almost so cheesy that it was annoying. Like I said, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, all living as one entity. The familiar sound of two voices arguing rang through the streets. Kevin turned his head to inevitably see Performer 1 and Performer 2. No one really bothered to remember either of their names, but there was still a certain friendliness, despite the lack of familiarity. Kevin waved to them.

“Good morning!” he said.

“Oh my God, Charlie, you’re so dumb! Everyone knows that a grande jetée can only be used toward the middle of the performance, and a second time at the end. You don’t start on a grande jetée! You idiot,” said the male performer, Charlie Mckay.

“No, Charlie, I wasn’t talking about a ‘grande jetée’, you assclown, everybody knows you can’t start on those! I was talking about a plié. It’s a bold starter move, unlike your debut in Newsies, you pandering shitwad,” said the female performer, Charlie MacCay.

“Good morning!” repeated Kevin, so they’d hear.

“For God’s sake, Charlie, there’s no room to be ‘bold’ in the theater. You have to go by the book!”

“By the book, or boring?” said MacCay. “Because your painful rendition of Nick Arnstein in Funny Girl sent the audience back into the kindergarten, more specifically, nap time.”

“Like your ‘performance’ - if you could even call it that - of Sandy in grease wasn't completely and utterly uninspired!”

The female performer gasped, clutching her heart.

“Yeah, you heard me, uninspired!”

“Good morning!” repeated Kevin.

“Well, at least I didn’t manage to screw up every performance I’ve ever been in!”

“Well, at least I’m not a B class singer at best, with the overreaction of a high school play!”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Thing One and Thing Two,” said the bartender, peeking his head out from the bar.

Both performers looked over at him.

“You’re in luck, I was just about to open up.”

They walked into the bar, bickering all the way in. Kevin chuckled to himself.

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Down at the hospital, Dr. Hazel Kinsley removed her stethoscope from her neck and hung it up on the rack. It was her twenty-minute break, and she decided to go to the bakery for a bit, just to get a bread roll, or something. Although, the feeling of walking was a rather unappealing idea, for she had been on her feet in surgery all day. Daily checkups, surgeries, all of the above and others. Being a doctor means that you’re always on your feet, always working, every single day, every single second. It gets tiring, but at least your pay is higher than everyone else’s. On top of it, you get way more respect than any other line of work in the world. Medicine isn’t the most rewarding line of work, but it did have its perks. For example, if you ever break an arm, you wouldn’t have to pay to get it fixed. By all means, operate on yourself. She exited the building, holding her jacket in hand. Meanwhile, against the building, on the scaffolding, Jo Feldman took a pause from her work and watched the doctor as she walked by. She smiled and waved at her. Hazel looked up at Jo. Unfamiliarized with the builder, she squinted, but waved back anyway. Unfamiliarized was an exaggeration. She knew her, she just didn’t know her.

“Morning, Doc!” said Jo.

“Oh, uh, good morning,” said the doctor, uncomfortable with the fact that she had to speak loudly.

She continued on her way, passing by the service shop, where Donna Hitchcock worked on a car. She pulled out from beneath it on a moving tray and smiled as she saw the doctor.

“Hi, Dr. Kinsley,” she said. “Those antibiotics did wonders on my arm!”

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The doctor, uncomfortable and timid, just nodded and smiled. She then waved and walked away from the service shop, praying that she wouldn’t encounter any other people that she knew… Which was tough in Penny Lane. Almost everyone knew each other. She finally arrived at the bakery, relieved that the baker was anti-social, so she wouldn’t have to make a conversation. The relief soon disappeared when she noticed Connor Coleman, the bartender who ran the bar just across the street. He was quite easily one of the most social people in town. But thankfully, he was already chatting with someone else; the town painter, Ace Fisher. She picked up a few bits of their conversation. She was curious; Ace Fisher never came out of his basement. What was he doing out?

“Fisher, kiddo, why don’t you ever come to my bar anymore? We miss you.”

“Not big on alcohol…” said Ace, almost as if he was trying to avoid the question.

“Bullshit, kid, you drank like a sailor when you used to come.”

“Used to,” he emphasized. “It’s not good for the creative process.”

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to drink. But come anyway, it’s fun, trust me.”

“No thank you, Coleman… I have to work on a project.”

“Well then, come after your project?”

“No, it’s not that type of project…”

“What type is it, then?”

“The lifelong type…”

“Ah, okay. Message received,” said Connor with a smile, getting up from their table.

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They spoke more, but Hazel didn’t pay attention. The baker handed her a bread roll. She thanked him and left the bakery. Just as she was about to leave, she heard Connor yell a big ‘hello!’. Panicked and unready to have a social interaction, she turned around slowly and carefully, as if she was being arrested by the police. The town lawyer, Henry Cordovan, walked toward the bartender. That’s who he was talking to. Relieved and with a smile on her face, Dr. Hazel Kinsley left with a light heart and a clear head. Meanwhile, the lawyer approached the bartender, a monotone expression dusting his face. Connor smiled brightly, as usual, and stuck his hand out for the other man to shake. Slightly confused, the lawyer looked down at his hand, squinted, looked back up at his face, and then back down at his hand. He repeated this motion until Connor finally realized that Cordovan was not going to shake his hand. He put it away but still smiled at the expressionless lawyer, half-expecting a two-way-street reaction. The lawyer had no reaction. This wasn’t news, he was completely monotone, every second of the day. Like the Terminator. Connor finally decided to speak, hoping that it would pull a reaction from the lawyer, knowing that there was only a fifty percent chance that his plan would actually work.

“Hi, Mr. Cordovan,” he said.

The lawyer didn’t say anything. He just paused, trailed his eyes up and down, and then nodded slightly. He walked away, leaving the bartender unsurprised.

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There was a radio in everybody’s clutches. Mayor Donovan specifically requested it. He liked to make morning announcements, and he liked for people to hear them. Mayor Donovan was close to his people. He liked it that way. This particular morning, the morning announcements were late. They were supposed to be at 10:00. It was now almost 11:00, and he hadn’t said a word. Everyone waited patiently, with their radios nearby. All it did was crackle and scratch. Nothing. All of a sudden, the radio turned on. Everyone in Penny Lane approached their ears to the radio, smiling ear-to-ear and waiting patiently for the mayor to tell them what he usually told them on the morning announcements. The weather, a couple of jokes, and then a time to meet him at the bar, so that they could hang out altogether. Connor and the mayor were close, of course, and so was the mayor and Kevin, and the mayor and Donna, and the mayor and everyone in the whole damn town. They had drinks together and hung out together, he was barely a mayor, he was just another guy. Everybody loved him. No exceptions.

“Good morning, Penny Lane,” said the voice on the radio, “This is Officer Delahaye.”

Confused, the habitants of Penny Lane listened with curiosity.

“As of this morning, 10:45 Am, Mayor Donovan had been reported… missing.”

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Missing.

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The mayor.

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The mayor was missing.

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“Everybody meet at the town hall in twenty minutes,” said the officer.

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Chapter 2

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The chatter grew louder and messier at the town hall. Nervous and biting his nails, Officer Delahaye paced back and forth behind the curtains of the town hall stage. He had to give a speech in front of the whole town. That didn’t make him nervous, it was just the fact that the mayor was missing and possibly dead. Behind the curtain, standing with him and watching him pace, was the fireman, Adam Beckett. He raised an amused eyebrow as he observed the nervous police officer walking back and forth, no specific direction programmed into his brain. After a while, the fireman got concerned. He furrowed his eyebrow and stood up, trying to catch the police officer’s eye. This didn’t work. Officer Elliott Delahaye’s brain was clouded. He was completely in space.

“Officer Delahaye,” said Beckett.

The police officer didn’t answer, he just continued to pace around the backstage area.

“Officer Delahaye,” repeated Beckett, slightly louder.

Elliott didn’t answer. The fireman sighed, stood up and grabbed the officer by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth, snapping him out of his trance.

“Officer Delahaye, can you hear me?!” yelled the fireman.

“Yes, Beckett, for fuck’s sake, I can hear you!”

“Oh,” said the fireman. “Then why didn’t you answer me?”

“Because I’m scared shitless, okay?! It’s my job to protect the city, to protect the mayor… and I obviously failed… I feel like such an incompetent idiot…”

“It’s not your job to do that… Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?! The mayor could be dead! Then what?! Oliver Donovan takes over?! I lose my job if that happens! Everybody hates me if that happens!”

“Calm down, officer-”

“I can’t just calm down! You don’t understand the gravity of the situation!”

“I understand fine, I was just going to say that you should probably calm down, because there’s an entire town out there, waiting for you to make a speech. If they see you all frenetic like this, things aren’t going to end well.”

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Officer Delahaye inhaled and exhaled. He hated to admit it, but Beckett was right. If he came out on that stage, stressed and panicked and pacing, the habitants of Penny Lane would not think that this was a normal event… which it wasn’t. Luckily, Officer Delahaye devised a plan. He would pair people up, excluding the children, and in pairs of two, they would search for Mayor Donovan in assigned spaces. He broke out his clipboard with the names of the people on it and went onto stage, throwing a nod to Beckett, who nodded back and followed him onto the stage. They stood in front of the frantic, chattering audience. Delahaye cleared his throat into the microphone, hoping that it would calm the audience down, but it didn’t. They continued on, just as if he wasn’t there. Delahaye cleared his throat, once again into the microphone, but louder. The audience didn’t hear, once again. Beckett lightly shoved Delahaye to the side and yelled ‘quiet’ into the microphone. Everybody looked up. The police officer swallowed nervously and lined himself up with the microphone. He wasn't one for public speaking, especially when it was possible that the mayor was dead. He swallowed hard and walked a little closer.

“G…Good evening P-” he placed his hand into the microphone, causing a wave of feedback to ring loudly over the gathered habitants in front of the town hall.

Delahaye tried to make himself less tense, he swallowed hard again and approached the microphone further.

“G…Good evening, Pen…Penny Lane,” he said, his words and sentences wobbling. “A…As you know, um, the… Mayor Donovan is gone - I mean, missing. We… We couldn’t, uh, find him this morning, and he’s, uh, he’s not returning his calls… or texts. Uh, basically, you should not worry at all, the police are handling it, right now, as we speak… But we can’t do it alone. Uh, if you could, um, all help out, there’s, uh, there’s a chance that we’ll find him at the end of tomorrow… W…Which is soon. I have…I have made some pairs of, um, everyone in the town… There’s, uh, well, I have my list with me, uh… Yeah, here it, uh, goes.”

Beckett flinched while watching Delahaye make his speech. How could someone be so horrible at public speaking? Being bad at public speaking is normal, but this man was terrible. Delahaye picked up his clipboard.

“So, uh, myself will be with Adam Beckett, Mr. Emory Scott with Mr. Connor Coleman,” he said.

The baker tightened his fist and glared at the bartender, who threw him an insincere friendly smile.

“D…Dr. Hazel Kinsley with, uh, Ms. Jo Feldman…” he paused and squinted. “Oh, uh… Charlie Mckay and, uh, Charlie MacCay-”

“It’s Charlie Mckay,” said Charlie Mckay, correcting him.

“Th…That’s what I said…? A…Anyways, Mr. Kevin Patterson with Mr. Ace Fisher. A…And last-lastly, Don- Ms. Donna Hitchcock a…and uh, Mr. Henry Cordovan. G…Good luck to you all… Uh, bye.”

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The police officer practically ran back inside, exhaling as the fireman followed closely behind him. Meanwhile, the habitants paired up into their respective teams. Emory Scott - the baker, and Connor Coleman - the bartender, stood next to each other. The baker had his arms crossed, his eyebrows twitching in frustration. Connor had a smile on his face - the insincere, bitchy kind that high school girls give to each other. Jo ran up to Dr. Kinsley in a heartbeat, smiling ear-to-ear at the fact that she was with her ‘friend’. The two performers bickered, as usual, Kevin Patterson tried to remember the limited interactions he’d had with Ace Fisher, and Donna Hitchcock talked at Henry Cordovan, who wouldn’t answer, he would just stare into space.

“I can’t believe I have to do this with you,” said Emory with an eyeroll.

“I can’t believe it either! I prayed that we would get paired, I guess God really does listen,” said Conner with a sarcastic, snarky tone, leaving the baker so much more annoyed than he already was.

“Okay, smartass, if you want to be a dick about it, go ahead, but I do think that-”

“Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Scott, we all know what happens when you think.”

“You’re such a-”

“Now, now, sir, there are women present, I’d pick your next words veeerrryyy carefully,” he said patronizingly.

“I just can’t stand your dumbass face.”

“Oh my gosh, something in common! I also can’t stand your dumbass face!” he said with a smile.

“I hate you so fucking much.”

“God, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Can’t we just start looking for the mayor, already?!”

“We can’t, dumbass, Beckett has to go around and give us the specific spot we have to look in.”

“And how long will that take?”

“I don’t know, fifteen minutes, maybe? Probably less.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, you’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Scott?”

“Go suck a lemon, Coleman.”

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Meanwhile, Ace and Kevin stood next to each other, stiff and quiet. Kevin tried to figure out why he had barely seen Ace in his daily routine. He saw him a couple of times, but only when he was going to the grocery store, or going to the doctor. And even that was only about once or twice, or maybe even three times a month. Kevin Patterson was a very social person. He liked to start a conversation with whoever he could find. Although, there was something about Ace Fisher that made the words escape from his mind. Like he was just impossible to talk to. It was as if they were all puzzle pieces, and Ace’s piece just didn’t fit with Kevin’s. He had a repulsive energy, despite his friendly nod and inviting words. Kevin threw a couple of glances at Ace and cleared his throat.

“So, uh, Mr. Fisher, I-”

“Oh, no, no, please, call me Ace… That ‘Mr. Fisher’ stuff creeps me out,” he laughed a little.

“Ah, ok, well then, Ace…uh, do you have an idea what happened to Mayor Donovan?”

“Oh, uh…no.”

The awkward silence returned. Kevin played with his own fingers as Ace placed his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. Suddenly, Adam Beckett arrived with a piece of paper in his hand. Kevin sighed with relief, thankful that someone intervened in the awfully overtaking silence.

“Alright, uh, Mr. Patterson and Mr. Ace Fisher, you will be searching the library, the school and the park, is that alright with you two?”

“Yes, that’s alright,” said Kevin.

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Ace nodded his head and agreement. Beckett smiled and wished them good luck. The two men walked away, heading toward the school area. The fireman approached the baker and the bartender, his list in hand. He squinted at the names. That couldn’t be right. Who in their right minds would put Connor Coleman and Emory Scott in the same team? That was not only dangerous for themselves, but dangerous for everyone around. He found them, and surely enough, they were just standing there, bickering. He cleared his throat as he approached them, trying to get their attention. They just continued bickering. He sighed and microscopically rolled his eyes. Once again, who in their right minds? The distracted Officer Delahaye, that’s who.

“Oh God, who’s idea was this?” said Beckett, motioning to them.

“I don’t know, but I’m requesting a change. This prick is driving me nuts,” said Emory.

“You say that as if you weren’t an asshole who’s just been attacking me since we grouped up.”

“Look, guys, do you think that you can actually get some work done like this, or do I have to search around the entire town to find you a new partner? Can you guys just act like mature adults, just this once? Right after we find Mayor Donovan, you can go back to hitting each other in the head with baseball bats, or whatever it is that you guys do. But just for now, can you at least try to get along- wait no, you don’t even have to get along, you just have to not murder each other, okay? Can you just do that for me? For Mayor Donovan? Please?”

The baker sighed and uncrossed his arms in reluctant agreement.

“Okay. Fine,” he said.

“I was ready to stop fighting for forever. It was Captain Crackhole that kept it going-”

“For fuck’s sake, Connor, just try,” said Beckett.

“Okay, okay,” said the bartender.

“Good. Thanks, you guys,” he gave them an encouraging thumbs up and left to go find another team.

“As soon as this is over, I’m going to put rat poison in your drinks,” said Connor with a grin.

“And I’ll put cockroaches in your bread rolls.”

“Deal.”

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Beckett walked up to the next team on the list, Jo Feldman and Hazel Kinsley. They stood next to each other, Jo excitedly telling the doctor about something or other. Dr. Hazel Kinsley despised a good social interaction. She hated speaking to others, as well as she hated having to be in big groups. Luckily, she wasn’t in a big group, but Jo sure made her feel like she was. It was like her mouth never closed. There was always some sort of noise coming out of her, yapping over and over again. All Hazel could do was smile and nod, and pretend that she was paying attention to whatever nonsense that Jo was spitting out of her always-open gullet.

“I’m so excited I get to be with my best friend!” she said.

Confused and sort of not really paying attention, Hazel nodded and smiled.

“Yeah,” she said.

Jo kept talking - as usual - and Beckett finally arrived, reading from his clipboard, his eyes glued onto it as he prepared himself to speak.

“Alright, Ms. Feldman and Dr. Kinsley, you will be over at the, uh… Hospital, the grocery store, and the bank, that’s alright with both of you?”

“Yep,” said Jo.

Hazel nodded.

“Alright, good luck.”

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The fireman walked away and headed toward the following team. Some of the choices were questionable… First and foremost, Connor Coleman and Emory Scott. Adam wasn’t sure if Officer Delahaye knew about the rivalry that was so intense in the neighborhood. Delahaye was sort of oblivious and not super involved with the town. He knew everybody, but he didn’t really know them. He didn’t even know how much the baker and the bartender hated each other. He also placed Performer 1 and Performer 2 together, which is bound to not end well. Like either team would get any work done. Regardless, there wasn’t much that they could do about it now. He looked down at his paper, reading the names of the next people. He looked up and saw the two people.

“Okay, Cordovan and Hitchcock, you two have the most important job. You will be

looking in between every house, through every building, in every parking lot… You will be doing an outdoor onceover, okay?”

“Alright,” said Donna.

Henry nodded in agreement.

Finally, there was the last team. Performer 1 and Performer 2. Like they’d get any work done, and they’d just argue about their kick-steps and diaphragms. He felt like someone like Mr. Patterson, who had to haul and police around kids all day, telling them to separate their teams, because he knew that they wouldn’t work well together. But Adam Beckett wasn’t the police. Adam Beckett wasn’t a teacher. The habitants of Penny Lane weren’t children. He assumed that he could trust them and he hoped that he could also. He approached the two performers with caution, sort of thinking that if he’d make a noise, they’d start arguing. He cleared his throat.

“Alright, Perfor- I mean, Mr. Mckay and Ms. MacCay, you will be searching

the theater, the post office and town hall, is that alright with both of you?” he looked up, and neither of them answered. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Hello? Is it okay with you two?”

No answer. Performer one wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it over to the fireman. Beckett took it, his eyebrow raised at the male performer. He looked down at the paper. It read ‘we’re on vocal rest’. Beckett rolled his eyes and crumpled the paper.

“For God’s sake, can’t you two be professional? The mayor could be dead, and you’re resting your tonsils?! Come on, you guys, shape up, or ship out!”

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The two performers groaned as they made their way to their assigned area. The fireman shook his head in shame and watched the two walk off. He then went to join Officer Delahaye, his partner for the search. The latter was walking back and forth, stressfully biting his nails. He was the most frantic person in this place. Beckett briefly thought of asking him why he had put Emory Scott and Connor Coleman, as well as Charlie Mckay and Charlie MacCay in a team. That was one of the worst decisions of the police officer’s life. But, that’s not what he needed right now. The mayor was missing, and he was under the impression that it was his own fault, even though Adam knew that it wasn’t, but Elliott thought that it was. The fireman tried to catch his eye, but failed.

“So, uh, how’s Oliver, do you know?” he asked.

The policeman stopped pacing and looked straight ahead, still not making eye contact with Beckett. The question had completely passed over his head, and he tried to recall it.

“The… uh… what?”

“Oliver? Oliver Donovan? The mayor’s son? How’s he dealing with this?”

Delahaye put his head in his hand and scrunched up his face.

“I don’t… I don’t know, I didn’t see him… Ask Patterson.”

“Delahaye, we have to go out and search.”

“I know… Where are we going?”

Beckett looked down at his list.

“The police station, firehouse and service shop,” he said. “We’re also supposed to keep an eye out for unusual activity, abnormalities outside of town lines, and watch out for phone calls.”

“Okay, then, let’s get on it!” said the police officer, trying to shove down the fact that he was a mess.

The fireman was worried, but if Delahaye said that he was okay, he was okay.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

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Chapter 3

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It was not a good day for Emory Scott. It was not a good day for twenty-six-year-old, baker, amateur writer, town asshole, Emory Scott. It was a terrible day, actually. He was stuck searching for the mayor, alongside the bartender who ran the bar just across the street from his bakery, Connor Coleman. Some idiotic, shit-eating, smiling face with the brain the size of a peanut and the ego the size of a skyscraper. Of course, Emory Scott was throwing some pretty big stones in that glass house of his. In reality, Connor Coleman was a good, sweet soul, who liked to make friends and have long conversations. A social butterfly with the ego the size of a peanut, and the brain the size of a skyscraper. Maybe that’s why he pissed off Emory so bad, he was a good guy. It was an okay day. It was an okay day for twenty-six-year-old, bartender, social butterfly, kind, polyglot, town friendly face, Connor Coleman. He wasn’t used to being hated, that’s why he never knew what to say when he was around Emory. It felt weird to be hated by someone. Little did he know that Connor had a plan, and he was sure that by the end of the search, Emory would be his best friend. They walked along the sidewalk-less street, Connor smiling, as usual, and Emory scowling. Connor glanced over at Emory and grinned. A good line had entered his brain. The likable type that would get someone to be your friend in a heartbeat, or at least just soften.

“It’s funny that we’re the same age, because you look so much older. Oh well, I guess you know what they say; a frown adds fifty years!”

Connor clapped his hand over his own mouth. That’s not at all what he meant to say. He was going to say ‘how’s business in the bakery?’. Where the hell did that come from?

“You know what, Coleman? Fuck you.”

‘Relax, Connor, it’s not the end of the world. Just apologize and tell him what you really wanted to say. It’s no big deal. You guys throw jokes around all the time, just focus what comes out of your mouth, next time, okay? It’s going to be okay, you can do this, Connor,’ he thought to himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought I’d let you know, since it’s not good for business; you can’t sell bread if people get scared off by your face and they think that you look like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Surprising himself, Connor tried to catch the words he had just spilt out and swallow them back, but it was too late. He was no longer in control of the words that left his throat.

“Yeah? I’d say the same for you, but it doesn’t change business that you look like all three Billy Goats Gruff. They get so drunk, they can’t even tell what the shape of your face is. Lucky assholes.”

‘Connor, what the hell?! Focus, for God’s sake! Just say something nice, like ‘okay, I guess… I was just joking, by the way, you look fine.’. Yeah, that’s good. Just say that, Connor, okay? Just say that. For real this time. Just say it,’ he thought to himself.

“Um, uh, well, uh, I was joking,” he said. “You look more like Dorothy Gale, with your feminine wiles.”

“Oh, like you’re a walking butch, Coleman!”

‘Goddammit, Connor! What is wrong with you?! Just say something nice, please, something nice!’ he thought to himself, once again, desperately trying to pass off a compliment to his associate.

“Uh, uh, your bread is pretty good,” he finally uttered out. “I’m sure the rats think so.”

“Yeah, and your bar is a fuckin’ clean-freak, huh?”

“I-”

‘No, Connor, just shut up, okay? Shut-up. Don’t say a word,’ he told himself.

“Hm.”

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The park was a large part of Penny Lane. That’s where the children played, that’s where the adults took walks, that’s where a lot of joyful loitering took place. Kevin Patterson and Ace Fisher walked around the park, sort of questioning why they were there. It wasn’t a ‘park’ with a lot of things to do, there was a small play park with two slides and a swingset, and the rest was full of trees, fields, and benches. That’s why they questioned why they were there; the mayor was most likely not hiding in the little kiddie tunnel, or behind a tree. They walked beside each other, silent as usual. Kevin tried to think up some small talk that he could muster up in his brain.

"So… Where’d you go to school?” he asked with a smile.

“School?” asked the painter, mildly confused.

“Yeah, college, where’d you go?”

“Oh, uh… I didn’t go to college,” he laughed a little. “I thought it was kind of useless.”

“Usele… Useless?” he was stunned, but he tried to keep it down, still smiling as usual.

“Yep. I was going to be a painter, anyways, so it didn’t matter that much. School doesn’t really matter that much to me. It’s nice and all, but I just feel like, after elementary school and grade eight, it’s all just bells and whistles and maybe a diploma. I dropped out after the eighth grade.”

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Kevin was speechless. Dumbfounded. You see, Kevin Patterson valued an education. His main value was education. He cared about education so much that he dedicated his entire life to it. It was the most important thing. He was a teacher, but not only in elementary school. Believe it or not, Kevin had a life outside of Penny Lane. He used to teach at the University of Liverpool. He also used to teach at a high school, and so on. Eventually, he settled in Penny Lane and stayed. He teached at the elementary school, because there was no high school nearby. He had dedicated his entire life to education, and this man was standing there, telling him how useless it was to have one, and how stupid it was, and how much of a waste of time it was. Kevin’s eye twitched in shock and slight anger, but he kept a smile on. He didn’t know what to say. Speechless. Dumbfounded.

“Oh, crap, sorry, you’re a teacher,” said Ace.

“Th…That’s quite alright, Ace…” lied Kevin.

“Oh, good. It’s just, you know… In my line of work, I don’t really need an education… I mean, nobody does, really. The only people that need one are doctors, teachers and lawyers. Everybody else can probably get by without one,” said Ace, not realizing that the line he had crossed was one Kevin didn’t even know he had.

“Well, I think that’s untrue, I mean, what about…uh…um…” he thought for a while. “Nuclear engineers?”

“Nuclear engineers?” he laughed. “How many people do you know that are nuclear engineers?”

Kevin didn’t answer. For the first time ever, he frowned. Ace noticed the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Anyway, what does it matter? We’re looking for the mayor.”

Kevin smiled and nodded. This was going to be a long search.

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Doctor Hazel Kinsley and Jo Feldman weren’t close. They weren’t close at all. Jo Feldman thought that they were. She thought that they were best friends. Boy was she wrong. To elaborate, despite being a doctor, Hazel Kinsley had severe clinical anxiety. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but she still had social anxiety. Maybe that’s a bad thing to have when you treat half the town, often on the same day. Yet, she had an anxious feeling always eating at her, always growing in her, never leaving…ever. Jo Feldman did not help that feeling. Jo Feldman liked to yell. Jo Feldman liked to start conversations where they didn’t need to be started. Jo Feldman did not help the anxious feeling that Hazel felt, at all. In the slightest. They walked along the outskirts of the hospital, searching for any clue that they could find. There, they happened to see Donna Hitchcock and Henry Cordovan walking along, probably headed toward whatever area they were assigned. Seeing this as an opportunity to spark a second conversation, Jo waved at the mechanic and they began talking. Loudly. Hazel shifted her eyes back and forth, trying to avoid eye contact of any sort. There were people around, civilians who didn’t have to search, they all stared at the two women having a conversation, each of them on a different part of the street. Hazel was beyond words. She was wildly embarrassed and didn’t know what to say or do. Quicker than it started, it was over. Jo said goodbye and Donna walked away with Henry Cordovan. Hazel finally breathed out as they continued.

“Hey, doc, you okay? You look real pale…” said Jo.

“Y…Yeah, I’m alright…” she lied.

“Alright, let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“That’s okay, I’m a doctor.”

Jo laughed a bit.

“Not like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like, as in, if I can help you with anything non-medical.”

“Oh, alright. Thanks. I’ll ask if I need anything.”

“Alright, best friend.”

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‘Best friend’. Hazel didn’t even know where that came from. All of their interactions were shorter than three minutes. Why was she under the impression that they were the closest of friends? It didn’t matter. In any relationship, whether it be with a friend or a family member, Hazel was not the one with the upper hand. No matter what anyone said to her, she’d have to go along with it, unable to reject someone, or call them out on their bullshit. She could pull a bullet out of someone’s leg, but she couldn’t say ‘no’. Quite the doctor, huh?

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Officer Elliott Delahaye wouldn’t say a word. Not a single word. He refused, in fact. No matter how much the fireman tried to get him to say anything, he wouldn’t open his mouth. His thoughts were racing back and forth, the mayor, the teams, the station, the this, the that… First, he was worried about the mayor, thinking that he might be dead, or in danger. Second, he was worried that the townspeople weren’t doing their jobs properly; how could he ensure efficiency if he couldn’t watch them closely? Third, he was worried that the station was getting calls from the mayor, every second that he wasn’t there. Nothing was going right at the moment, and he was terribly nauseous. If the mayor dropped dead, it was his fault. He’s the chief of police. It’s his job to keep the town safe, and look at what happened under his watch. He was under the impression that he was a terrible fool that everyone was going to be disappointed in if he failed at his mission. Officer Delahaye was the youngest police chief, most likely ever. He was worried that one wrong move meant that he was out. Fired. Canned. But in reality, no one expected him to be perfect. He expected himself to be perfect. Adam and Delahaye walked along the streets quietly. Elliott was too nervous to speak. Beckett smiled at the policeman, who ignored him, too frenetic to do anything about the friendliness that was being thrown at him. The fireman rolled his eyes a little and stopped walking, grabbing Delahaye’s shoulder to pull him back with him. They both stopped and the officer turned his head toward the other man, darts flying from his glaring, enraged eyes, fixed onto Beckett.

“What do you want?” he practically yelled.

“Calm down, Delahaye, he’s alright. He probably just got lost in the food aisle again, looking for the rice.”

“This isn’t funny! He could be dead-”

“God, just think for a moment; who would want to kill Mayor Donovan? What would be the motive?”

The policeman thought for a moment.

“Uh… Probably… Having a re-election and taking his seat?”

“Right. Now think, who in this town would do such a thing?”

“Um… Someone who likes being in power?”

“Right. Now think, who in this town wants power that much?”

“Uh… I’m not sure. ”

“Exactly. There are some pretty big assholes in this town, but nobody’s Dahmer level asshole. He’s fine.”

Delahaye breathed out.

“Alright, okay. Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am. The mayor’s just fine, okay?”

“Okay.”

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Delahaye had listened to what the fireman had told him, but he hadn’t listened. He didn’t believe for a moment that the mayor was safe in any way.

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Henry Cordovan didn’t talk. People knew this; it was a known fact, but for some odd reason, Donna Hitchcock didn’t know that. I mean, she knew that… but she didn’t care. She just thought that it was a coincidence that no one knew what his voice sounded like. Henry wasn’t antisocial, he was just a little shy…or maybe he just didn’t know what to say, when to say it or the right way to say it. Talking was a chore, a chore that he didn’t have the luxury to afford. He was a lawyer. A lawyer. He should be able to talk. And he could talk, he wasn’t mute, but he just preferred to only talk in law terms, in law circumstances. He only spoke for his true love; his job. He was a closed open book, meaning nobody knew what his favorite song was, or anything, but they knew that he didn’t talk. They knew that and they respected it. Donna spoke at him, while he stared ahead. She noticed that he was having no reactions to whatever she was saying, and that he refused to speak. He was stiff and cold. Like a dead body, somehow managing to walk, but still being a dead body. Like when the ass of a worm keeps moving after you chop off its head. In conclusion to the correlation, Henry Cordovan was the ass of a dead worm.

“Hey. Cordovan, don’t you talk?”

Henry raised an eyebrow, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Okay… I guess. Don’t you have, like, emotions, or anything like that?”

Cordovan didn’t answer.

“My God, you’re one weird guy…”

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The only sound that could be heard in the silence of Penny Lane was the constant bickering between Performer 1 and Performer 2. No matter what was happening, no matter who was dead, missing, fighting, killing, they were always in the background, arguing about who got the best solo, who got the best monologue and who did the best performance. They liked to ignore it; nobody really cared about the fight that seemed so important to them. They strolled along the sidewalk that cradled the theater, their stinging words filling the misty air. Usually, the male performer would attack Charlie, insulting her ‘artistic liberties’. The female performer would get mad in return, and attack the male’s often ‘by-the-book’ personality. This would go on and on and on. Once, Connor heard them fight at the bar for a full night. From 7:00 pm to 5:00 am. Who knows when they even had the time for that? All that arguing was so useless, and everyone seemed to know that, except for the two petty performers.

“Charlie, is it true that your director called you a tight-ass?” said the female performer.

“No, Charlie, it’s not true. What director would even do that?”

“You know, when you were working on Wicked?”

“Wicked? When?”

“You know, when you played Glinda?”

“When I played-... Hey!”

MacCay laughed.

“Can it, Tree Number One.”

“What?! I was never Tree Number One!”

“Really? You have the look for it…”

“God, Charlie, you’re such an asshole.”

“And you’re such a bitch, Charlie.”

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The two continued bickering until they both realized that it wouldn’t get them anywhere. The mayor, the lovely, kind, nice mayor that loved the town ever so much was missing. This was about something bigger than themselves, something that didn’t require them. They just had to help and accept that it wasn’t about them, for once. Luckily, they found it in their hearts to put aside their personal needs for at least one week, just long enough to find the mayor, putting their heads together and pause their awful fight just for a short, short time.

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No, just kidding.

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The performers weren’t mature enough to do that.

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The search continued, not much progress being made. Delahaye heard each grain of sand fall from the giant hourglass. Each hit against the sand, each grain, each drop, and it made him itch. He was so scared and worried that the mission he had started to find the mayor was never going to finish, or at least become successful.

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Chapter 4

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Connor Coleman decided that it would be better for the both of them if he kept his mouth shut. He was nice to everyone, all the time. He was one of the nicest people around, always smiling with a friendly tone, but Emory Scott was a challenge. There was something about that man that just made his words untamed and made him spout things that he didn’t want to spout. Emory Scott was such an asshole, that not even Connor Coleman could be nice to him. Emory made him so mad that he could only think about how much he hated him, when he was around him, and his kind words translated into bitchy ones. It wasn’t voluntary. That was the worst part. He couldn’t control the hateful words that escaped his gullet. They walked into the bakery, both quiet, as they looked around the empty bakery - a rare sight for such a popular place in Penny Lane. Scott looked around.

“Mayor Donovan?” he shouted.

There was no answer, obviously, and Connor looked over at the baker like he was crazy.

“Okay. Looks like he’s not here.”

“You absolute fucking idiot,” said Connor with an eyeroll. “What if he can’t answer? Like his mouth is blocked, or he’s unconscious or sleeping or something?”

“Okay, okay, we’ll look.”

Emory leaned against his own leg and threw a quick glance around the bakery.

“He’s not here.”

“Are you fucking dense?”

“What?”

“From here, you can only see about one third of the bakery. What makes you think he’s not here?”

“We checked, Coleman, can we just go?!”

“Why are you in such a hurry, Goddammit!?”

“Because I don’t want to be here!”

“Oh, yeah, and I’m thrilled to have to walk around with the human shit-eater,” said Connor. “Are you really going to risk someone’s life just because you don’t really like me?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Especially considering that the life I’m risking is a Penny Lane one.”

“And what’s so wrong with Penny Lane?”

“What’s wrong with Penny Lane?! Are you dense? Penny Lane’s a fucking nightmare! It’s like the Twilight Zone in here! Every time I wake up in the morning and exit my house, I feel like I’m in a Goddamn nursery rhyme! Have you heard of anyone from a shitty little town in Liverpool who grew up to become a famous person? Or, hell, at least a successful person? Okay, maybe you have, but those people didn’t live here. With you people. Do you think that in five years, Kevin Patterson’s going to become a politician? Or is Performer 2 going to make it big on Broadway? Or, for fuck’s sake, is Emory Scott going to write a popular book? Hell no! This is the endgame, Connor, this is it,” he approached Connor to a very close proximity and grabbed his shoulders. “Listen closely, Coleman, we’re going to die on Penny Lane, and no one will remember our names.”

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Emory got out of Connor’s face, let go of his shoulders and went to the back of the bakery, out of sight from the other boy, most likely checking for the mayor. Connor was stunned. He was stunned and paralyzed. Was he right? Were they all going to die on Penny Lane, not having a single success story to their name? Most likely. Where else would they go? Like Connor Coleman, a bartender from the middle of nowhere, could immigrate to America or somewhere where people make it in life, and become a success story. It was practically impossible. Maybe Emory was right, four words Connor never thought he’d think. The baker emerged from the room behind the counter. His eyes were slightly less colorful than they were, and they were glued onto the ground.

“He’s not in there,” said Emory, almost a whisper, but just a mumble.

Connor just nodded, nobody daring to say a word about the previous conversation. They both left the bakery, their minds full, clouded, confused and surprised, but mostly quiet.

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The past hour and a half had been the longest one to ever pass for Donna Hitchcock. Henry Cordovan was quite possibly the worst person for her to be paired up with. She noticed a few things about the strange lawyer; for starters, he always walked with his back so straight that it would bend inward. His posture was abnormal. His hands were always folded and placed behind his back. If he wasn’t looking like this, he had his back as straight as a stick, his hands in his pants pockets, making the lower end of his blazer flare up. She thought that he was such a strange soul. He always wore those constipated ivy league clothes. Donna wasn’t one to judge, she wore greasy-stained work clothes, meaning overalls. But that was because of her job. Then again, maybe those constipated ivy league clothes were part of Henry’s job. Who knows? No one knew much about that man, but he seemed to be happy with his career. Seemed. No one could ever really know. But meanwhile, Donna felt like a lion in a cage at the zoo. She felt like she was aimlessly back and forth, so much potential, but going nowhere. Donna needed to talk to someone, she had so much to say, but this stupid lawyer guy had less than no sense of humor, he had no voice. Donna’s enemy was the mute man. Otherwise known as Henry Cordovan. That’s when Donna got an idea. Maybe if she started talking, he might get the hint and talk back.

“So, you’ll never believe what happened to me last week,” she started.

She glanced over at him, sort of awaiting a response. Nothing. She continued.

“So, this guy comes into my shop. He’s like, what, six-foot-nine? Not even joking! The man was huge. Anyhow, he walks in, he’s got this real businessy suit on, sunglasses too. Looked like a secret agent. Now, I was kinda spooked, so I had my hand gripped onto my tool. You know, precaution. Anyways, this guy hands me this thing… God, what was it? It was like a brown piece of paper. So, he goes; ‘hey, have you seen a building with this address?’. I laughed a little, because that was, like, town hall. So I said; ‘yeah, that’s town hall. Just to the left of-’, then he cuts me off and goes; ‘okay, thank you, young lady.’. Then, he adjusts his sunglasses and leaves. Just like that. Can you believe it? Some weird dude, that was. Anyways, that was a pretty weird wednesday.”

The lawyer’s eyes trailed along her face, no reaction, the only detectable emotion was the slight hint of confusion. Donna thought to herself; ‘great. I’m partnered with Charlie Chaplin.’

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It didn’t matter that it had been over an hour, and possibly over two hours; Kevin Patterson could just not get over what Ace Fisher had said. Education was the most important thing. How could Ace just brush it off like that? Without education, you’re most likely to not get hired for the job you apply to, you’re most likely to go throughout your adulthood, not knowing the most simple things that everyone else knows. Not having an education makes you in solitude, it makes you isolated. Ace Fisher was the perfect example of this; he lived in his basement and never went anywhere else. They walked along in silence, even more awkward than it was before. Before, they were two friendly strangers. Now, they were less friendly strangers. They were angry strangers, who didn’t approve of each other’s lifestyles. Deep down in his thoughts, heart and soul, Kevin thought that he was a brainless, dumb, hic, with a lack of brains and intelligence. Deep down in his thoughts, Ace thought that Kevin was an uptight, nerdy, schoolboy with a one-track, closed mind. But it was too simple to say that they hated each other, and on top of it, it wasn’t true. They didn’t hate each other, they just disapproved of each other. They had finished searching in the park, and now they had to search the school, and ask the children if they had seen anything. The children were given orders to all go wait in the gym for further instructions. There was a stage set up in front of the sitting crowd of kids. Ace and Kevin stood on the stage, adjusting their microphones and getting ready for the speech. Kevin took the lead, being more familiarized with the restless kids in front of them.

“Hello, guys,” he started.

“Hello, Mr. Patterson,” said all the children in unison.

Ace rolled his eyes microscopically. Kevin pretended like he didn’t see it.

“So, as you all know, today is a very particular day… A special day. Not in a good way. Mayor Donovan is missing, and we’ve been looking for him everywhere. Now, it would mean the world to us if any of you could tell us something useful; meaning, you’d have to tell us where you think the mayor could be, or if you’ve seen anything weird lately. Really, anything you can think of, please.”

They waited, and no one lifted up their hand.

“Any piece of information could be useful to the search, so don’t be shy.”

Nothing. Ace and Kevin looked at each other for a split second. Suddenly, a brunet kid in the audience lifted his hand up. Relieved, Kevin pointed at him and called on him.

“Yes?” said the teacher.

“Who’s that?” said the kid, pointing at Ace.

Kevin sighed in disappointment.

“He’s someone that’s helping with the search. Does someone else have any useful inf-”

“How come I’ve never seen him around?” said the kid.

“It doesn’t matter, look, we really need some-”

“It’s because I never leave my house; I practically live in my basement, because I’m working on a project. I’m a painter.”

“Wow, a painter?! What paintings did you do? Is your project finished?” said the kid.

Ace blushed in embarrassment. Truly, he had never finished a project before, and he never painted anything worth hanging on the fridge, even. Kevin noticed his embarrassment and intervened.

“Does anyone have anything useful to say-”

“Did you go to painter school?” asked the kid.

“What? No, I didn’t go to school.”

Kevin shot Ace a death glare. All the children gasped.

“You didn’t go to school?!” said a little blond girl in the audience.

“No, I thought it was useless,” Ace shrugged.

Kevin felt the heat rise to his ears. If this was a cartoon, there’d be steam coming out of his ears. He had never been so angry in his entire life. He was calm, collected and happy, but this sonofabitch was really driving him over the edge, feeling his entire body filled with rage.

“But doesn’t school teach you things?” said some black-haired kid in the audience.

“Sometimes, but not always. Sometimes it’s just homework and annoying teachers.”

The kids all laughed as Kevin’s eye twitched. He stepped on Ace’s foot.

“I want to not go to school, just like Mr. Painter!” said a ginger kid.

“Me too!” said another child.

“Me too!” said another audience member.

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Soon, the cheers of the children all yelled ‘me too’. Before, Kevin thought that he couldn’t get angrier. He could. And did. Ace Fisher, the education-less asshole was making a fool out of him and his career in front of the whole school. He was seeing red, So angry that he couldn’t even find the kind words to sugarcoat his discomfort. He just really wanted to run a knife along the insides of that man’s neck. Kevin surprised himself with such thoughts, but only for a moment, because he was so angry that it didn’t matter. He was just so enraged. He valued education more than anything, and Ace knew that, and still, he decided to diss it, ruining all the work that Kevin had put into making the younger generation care about school and learning. All that work, those countless hours of work, all useless because of some jobless painter who lives in his basement, yelling some bullshit in front of all these children. It’s hard to make something, but it’s easy to break it. Ace continued.

“Well, you can all not go to school. Education isn’t that important. We can all not go to

school. It couldn’t be less useless.

Now, Kevin was the angriest he’d ever been. A pulling rope emotion took over his body and his actions were no longer his own. He was no longer in control of his body. With a balled up fist, he approached Ace Fisher, and with a swift throw of the hand, he blacked out. When he opened his eyes again, Ace Fisher was tumbling backward, holding his bloody nose in his hands. Kevin looked down at his own fist and saw a small drop of blood on his knuckle. Everyone was shocked. The kids were all watching, their mouths wide open. Ace was still in shock. A fly could be heard, as well as a pin drop. No one dared speak a word. After finally realizing what he had done, Kevin placed his own hand over his mouth, his eyes filling up with involuntary tears. He ran off stage, not saying a word more, more embarrassed than he’d ever been in his entire life, leaving the whole gym shocked.

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The post office was a pretty small place, there was only one mailman in Penny Lane. No one even knew his name. But apparently, an entire building was dedicated to him. Well, not him, to the letters. The performers walked in, both arguing, loudly and angrily. The desk was barely taking up half the well, a counter with boxes everywhere. That’s where people dropped off the packages, that’s where they got sent off. Behind the counter, was where people receive the letters, as well as when they get it sent in. They looked around the front area, still arguing about whatever subjects that they always argue about. After a while, the things they say to each other got repetitive. The insults all melded into each other, losing all meaning, slowly and one by one.

“I bet you’ve been to the post office quite a bit for character study. Those cardboard boxes are perfect inspiration for your roles,” said Charlie MacCay.

“Yeah, and I guess you’ve been here a couple of times, over-sending your headshots to broadway producers.”

“Everybody knows you have to keep sending them to have your face known throughout the place!”

“And you think some American’s going yo recognize you? Try West End, you talentless wreck.”

“West End is almost as good as Broadway, asscrack.”

“Emphasis on almost, bitch.”

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The arguing continued as they entered the back part of the post office. When Charlie Mckay was a little boy, he took dance classes. He happened to be the best in his class, a multi-talented six-year-old, with a perfect pirouette. That was until Charlie MacCay. Charlie MacCay had just moved to Penny Lane from Stockport in Manchester. She was clearly just as good as him. That was the thing about the performers; no matter how much they insulted each other, n matter how much they told each other how bad they were, no matter how serious the massive rivalry was, they were just as good as the other. Their talent levels were exactly the same. Charlie wasn’t better than Charlie, and Charlie wasn’t better than Charlie. After being shadowed by the newcomer in his dance class, Mckay went to go take singing classes, to get a leg up over MacCay. Soon after, MacCay joined his singing class, joining it at the top seat. This continued for everything that Mackay wanted to do. They’ve always been in competition, always set to prove that they were the best one, despite being the same. This had been going on since they were six years old. It had been going on for about twenty years, give or take a few. They went into the back part of the post office, searching for the letters. Nosy, both of them decided to ‘search’ for the mayor by looking at the names on all of the letters. Suddenly, MacCay came across a letter from ‘Charlie Mckay’, addressed to American Musical and Dramatic Academy of New York. Curious, she picked it up and turned around to face Mckay to see if he was looking. He wasn’t looking. She opened the letter and read it, still making full sure that Mckay wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing.

The letter said:

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Dear American Musical and Dramatic Academy of New York,

Thank you so much for the full scholarship at your school. I’m flattered and honored at your proposition. Very truly honored. I regret to inform you that I cannot accept, for personal reasons. I wish I could go to the school, and I am terribly sad that I can’t. But sadly, I just can’t leave Liverpool. Thank you so much for the scholarship, I really do appreciate it, I just can’t. I hope you know that I still respect the school with every inch of my soul, and I am not at all trying to say that the school isn’t good enough, or it’s not up to my level. Once again, very sorry and very thankful for everything that you have awarded me with, and thank you for recognizing the talent that you saw in me.

Sincerely and Cordially,

Charlie Mckay.

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Charlie was shocked. How could he refuse a full scholarship from the American Musical and Dramatic Academy of New York? How could he do that? Charlie just didn’t know what to do. She took the letter out of the send pile, luckily he hadn’t sent it in yet. MacCay knows that if he sent that letter, he would be making the worst mistake of his life. She would kill for an opportunity to go to New York to go to a prestigious art school and learn about drama and theater. It’s true that it would be kind of weird without him there every day… It was true that he was the first person she saw in a day and the last, and the person she knew the most, that she talked to the most, and he would always show up to her shows - even if it was for the wrong reasons. Maybe if she really tried and thought into the back of her mind, she might even be drunk enough to call him a friend. It would be weird without him on Penny Lane, constantly challenging her and her talent. Did she even want him to go to New York? It was crazy not to go, but she would be sad if she did. Suddenly, Mckay came up behind her and ripped the letter from her hands, startling her and making her jump. He looked nervous and furrowed his eyebrows.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said.

“W…What? Uh, nothing, um, I was just, uh…”

“Just, uh… what? Just reading my personal letter?!”

“What’s wrong with you? Are you stupid?! The American Musical and Dramatic Academy of New York gave you a full fucking scholarship, and you refused?! How?! Why?! I just don’t understand!”

“It’s none of your Goddamn business, Charlie.”

“I don’t…I don’t get it! I’d kill for a chance to get to New York and go to a performance school.”

“Well, not everyone’s like you, Charlie!”

There was a long silence. MacCay softened.

“Why didn’t you go?” she said, no longer yelling, just being calm.

Charlie sighed.

“I don’t know…” he said. “I’ve lived on Penny Lane my whole life… I don’t want to leave it. And it sounds real stupid, but I kind of didn’t want to leave…you. I know we hate each other, and I know we’re always insulting each other, but it’s going to be too weird without you. I’ve known you since I was six, and we’ve never really got along, but you’re just… one of the people I know the most in the world, and you’ve helped me grow over the years. My biggest motivation was becoming better than you, and it pushed me to become a better performer, and every day I worked hard to get there, just so I could be better than you, and I’m grateful for that. But without you, how am I supposed to get better? My motivation is gone… I guess you could say that I…uh… I maybe, sort of, kind of, might consider you… a friend.”

Charlie smiled. She was actually genuinely happy.

“I… sort of consider you a friend too,” she said. “And I can’t believe that you’re rejecting the American Musical and Dramatic Academy of New York, just because of me.”

He pushed her shoulder playfully.

“Not for you, you absolute dolt. For Penny Lane,” he paused. “And you, a little bit.”

Charlie pulled him in for an awkward side hug.

“Aww, how nice,” she said almost patronizingly.

He chuckled a little and pushed her away.

“I can’t wait to stay so I can watch you be so bad at performing, like a worm, while I become the next Michael Crawford,” he said.

“More like the next Barbara Streisand,” she said.

“Ok, haha, fuck you.”

Officer Delahaye never felt like this in his whole life. His breath was shortening, his palms were sweaty, his eyes were watering and his heart was racing. He had never had anything like that before… he was so nervous that his entire body was shutting down. Him and Beckett were walking side by side in their assigned area. Adam wasn’t looking over at Delahaye, luckily, and he didn’t want him to. Elliott was embarrassed by his state, and tried to hide it from his comrade. They had done the full search of the area, and they now had to wait by the telephone of the police station for any calls that could help with the search. They both sat down in respective chairs, staring at the phone, waiting for a call. Beckett was patient, while Delahaye tried to calm down the shaking that his entire body was carrying out. Suddenly, the phone rang, the high pitch vibration making Elliott jump in his chair. Beckett looked at him, sort of waiting for him to answer it. Delahaye only caught that he was supposed to answer it, after he was supposed to. His reflexes and reactions were delayed because of the nervousness. He picked up the phone, hsi sweaty hands almost dropping it. He put it to his ear, the cold plastic of the phone causing him to wince. He waited. The voice on the other line wouldn’t speak. That’s when Delahaye realized that he had to say something first, to reassure the other person that he was there. It was a police rule. But like I said, Delahaye’s mind was all over the place, not understanding the reactions and things he was supposed to do.

“Hello, Chief Officer Delahaye speaking,” he said.

“Speaking?” said the scratchy old voice on the other line.

“Uh… I said, Chief Officer Delahaye.”

“Speaking?” repeated the scratchy voice.

“Chief Officer Delahaye!” he said, not yelling and angry, just raising his voice to be heard.

“Oh, hello Keith Oliver Bella Day.”

“That’s Delahaye. Officer Delahaye.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Officer Delipay.”

“Delahaye.”

“Of course, Officer Phillipe.”

Delahaye sighed as Beckett motioned him to carry on the conversation. Delahaye put the phone on speaker so Beckett could also hear the chat.

“So, what’s your name, sir?” asked the police officer.

“My name is Harold McGerald.”

Elliott looked Beckett in the eye, and the fireman nodded, understanding what he was trying to say, and taking out a notebook to write the old man’s name on a piece of paper.

“Okay, Mr. McGerald, do you have a reason for calling today?” asked the fireman.

“Who the heck is that?!” said the old man.

Confused, Beckett raised an eyebrow at Delahaye.

“I’m, uh, Adam Beckett from the PLFD.”

“The what?!”

“The PLFD? Penny Lane Fire Department?”

“The Penny Lane Fire Department? Sounds made up…”

“Well, it’s not. It’s just left of the police department,” said the fireman.

“What police department?”

“The one you’re calling?!”

Delahaye signaled him to move on.

“Anyways, what’s the reason for the call?”

“Well, I found the mayor.”

Elliott lit up like a candle.

“You did?!”

“Yes, he’s brown and striped, just like you said, and he has a broken paw.”

“A… What?” said the confused fireman.

“I said he’s brown and stripe-”

“Yes, we heard, Mr. McGerald, but that description fits the one of a cat… We’re looking for a man, Mayor Donovan. Have you seen him or not?”

“I did. I found him. He’s got a black spot on his ear.”

“That’s a cat!” yelled the policeman, losing his temper.

“Calm down,” whispered Adam through gritted teeth.

Delahaye inhaled and exhaled.

“Right, so, we have some business to attend to, so if you know anything about the mayor, can you please contact the police station again? We’d be happy to receive some information. Thank you,” he said.

“No, no wait!” said Harold. “I’m a traumatized man! I witnessed a murder!”

“A murder…?” said Beckett.

“Yes! And I found the iguana, what more do you want from me?!”

“For fuck’s sake, what you have is a Goddamn cat and we’re looking for the mayor! The mayor! Mayor Donovan of Penny Lane! Go get your brain checked, you lousy fruitcake, or so help me God, I will find you!” the policeman yelled before slamming the phone down and hanging up violently.

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As soon as he did so, he felt weird. The world was sort of spinning, and the clamminess of his hands grew numb. He couldn’t feel anything except for the pounding in his head, feeling light and like this brain was no longer in there, his whole body was hollow. His eyes started to fill up with black pixels, and he took a step backward, the dizzy demeanor of his legs taking full force. Concerned, Beckett approached him, saying something like ‘are you okay’, but the policeman couldn’t hear. He kept taking steps backward until he inevitably fell down, his vision clouded by black pixels, and the only thing he could hear was Beckett yelling his name.

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During the whole trip, during the whole process, Jo Feldman just kept talking about how they were best friends, best buddies, close companions, etc. Hazel felt like an hourglass. Every time Jo would say something like that, a grain of sand would drop onto the compartment below her. The grains kept spilling and spilling, until the inevitable loss of patience that Hazel was going to have to suffer through. Calm, collected, perfect and quiet Hazel, would be the cause of a murder, if Jo talked about what close friends they were, one last time. Hazel just couldn’t take it anymore. But for now, it was fine. For now. At that moment, they had to check the grocery store and the bank. Hazel was thinking that if they split up, they could do the searching twice as fast, and find the mayor as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Jo was completely not thinking about that in the slightest.

“So, if we split up - I’ll take the bank, and you’ll take the grocery store, or vice versa, of course - we’ll be able to work twice as fast and find the mayor even quicker than if we just went together.”

Jo frowned and looked down.

“Aw, but don’t we want to hang out together? You know, cause we’re best friends.”

One grain of sand, missing.

“Well, I guess we could go together, but the mayor could be in serious trouble… he could need our help now, and if we split up and find him faster, there could be a chance to make sure that he’s okay.”

Jo put her hand on Hazel’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but then I’d have to separate from my best friend!”

Two grains of sand, missing.

“I know, I’m sorry… It’s just more efficient this way.”

“That’s too bad… But it doesn’t really matter. We could just go, and I’m sure the mayor would be fine. I wouldn’t want to do any searching without my best friend.”

Three grains of sand, missing.

“We can’t value personal joy over someone’s life.”

“Everyone else is searching with their friends, not separating.”

Four grains of sand, missing.

“Everyone else isn’t going to find the mayor.”

“Everyone else isn’t close friends like us.”

Five grains of sand, missing.

“Can’t we just separate, you heard-headed idiot?! We’re not even friends! You can survive without me, I’m literally a person you’ve talked to twice in your whole life! I don’t even like you that much!” said Hazel on impulse.

No grain of sand left.

Jo was silent. She ignored the tears that built in her eyes.

“You’re a jerk,” she said, heading toward the bank.

Hazel felt bad and tried to stop her, so she could apologize, but she felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. She turned around to face Adam Beckett, who held an unconscious Officer Delahaye over his shoulder. Confused, Hazel’s eyes shifted from side to side, trying to figure out what was going on.

“I don’t know what happened to him, doctor, he just fainted…” said the fireman.

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Chapter 5

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Connor Coleman was still in shock. What Emory had said to him was really…strange. He had never thought of it that way. He was never going to leave Penny Lane, so it did mean that they were all going to die on Penny Lane. It’s okay. There was a cemetery. But Emory seemed appalled at the fact that he might have to spend all of his days in the town they all seemed to call home except for him. Maybe it made sense. The only reason that Emory was such a wet blanket was because he was just unhappy in his life. Connor felt bad. Which was weird when it came to the baker. They walked alongside the streets, finally almost done with the search. Scott sighed and sat down on a bench near where they were, putting his head in his hands. Connor sat next to him, his hands on his own legs, sort of watching Emory, wondering what to do. After a long moment of careful consideration, he decided to gently place his hand on Emory’s back, rubbing it back and forth. Surprised by this action, Emory tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t look up from his hands, afraid to make a bigger fool of himself than he already had. He just sat there, in Connor’s hand, like a helpless worm. Suddenly, he sat up, and the bartender let go of him, still looking at Emory, carefully awaiting an explanation for his strange behavior.

"Connor, I’m so sorry,” he said, “I’m such an idiot.”

Connor threw him a sympathetic look, putting his hand on the baker’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t say that, it’s okay… don’t worry about it, please.”

He threw him a gentle smile, taking the baker aback. He had never been on Connor’s good side before… It felt strange. Strange, but good. He liked that Connor was happy at him, instead of just mad at him and ready to argue. Like I said, it felt strange but good. Emory’s mind changed the subject and decided to explain himself for the prior behavior that he had done, back at the bakery. He sighed and looked down at the floor.

“I really am sorry,” he said. “It just drives me crazy that I know I’m staying in this place forever. And that might be okay for you, and all of the other people, but it just doesn’t work for me. I know everyone says they want to be famous one day, but I don’t know… I guess I kind of believed it. It sounds dumb, but I really just wanted to do something with my life… Go to America, or something… Something important.”

For the first time in his life, Connor was interested in what Emory had to say. He looked downward, trying to meet his gaze. Emory noticed and took this as a sign to continue.

“Ever since I was a kid,” he started, avoiding eye contact with the bartender, “I had a real talent for writing. Everyone kept telling me how great I was, how fantastic my stupid words were. But in truth, it was just squiggles on paper. I thought it was good, I was under the illusion, just like everyone else. And I kept telling everybody that I was going to become a famous writer, and kept saying it too. And they weren’t just empty words, I really thought and everyone really thought that I was going to be a writer. Then, one day, I bought a plane ticket to the United States, packed up all of my things, and said goodbye to my family. They all thought that I was going to make it big in the U.S and become a famous author. I was at the airport by myself, and I was just thinking: ‘what the hell am I doing?’. I immediately left, grabbed a taxi to the nearest town and landed in Penny Lane. I was so ashamed of myself, I couldn’t tell anyone. I used to live in Sheffield, all my folks are back there, all thinking that I’m in America, making my dreams come true… Meanwhile, I’m in Crazytown, living my life as a Dr. Seuss book. I haven’t spoken to any of them since. I just can’t; I feel like such a failure, you know?”

Connor didn’t know what to say. What do you say to that? It made more sense to him why Emory hated Penny Lane so much, it was because of the things it reminded him of. The things he did… or the things he didn’t do. Penny Lane was a constant reminder of how he failed, how he lied and how he’ll never be anyone important. Now, Connor could pat Emory on the back and whine about how sorry he was and how bad that must feel like, but he knew that would make Emory feel even more of a failure: he’d have to receive pity from the man who’d been giving him the least amount of pity, his whole life. Connor knew that it would make him feel like he had really lost. Instead of doing that, Connor decided to muster up every bit of strength he had left, to actually, really, in all seriousness, say something nice to him. And maybe, now that he knew that he was a person, it wouldn’t be as hard to do so as all of the other times. Connor met his gaze again and smiled, a certain tenderness to his face that gave off a warm, inviting energy that made the baker understand why he had so many customers at that bar of his. They both sat up straight, and he decided to finally tell him that nice thing he was planning.

“Well, maybe you could let me read something you wrote, sometime… see what the hype is about,” said Connor with a wink.

Emory smiled back, real and fulhearted, for the first time in a very long eternity.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

They continued to sit there, as Connor internally patted himself on the back for actually saying something nice, while Emory tried to ignore the flips his stomach was doing.

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It had been the longest two hours of Henry Cordovan’s entire life. He didn’t know what genius paired him up with Donna Hitchcock, but he wanted that ‘genius’ dead. He wasn’t the type to get annoyed, or get any feelings at all, but she hadn’t closed her mouth since they left. It was word after word after word, it was like she couldn’t ever shut-up. Like she had a curse to always have a meaningless word run out of her mouth. He was on the verge of death. He couldn’t keep up with all of her blabbering, all of her talking, he wanted to jump off a bridge. At that moment, she was going on and on about some interaction at a grocery store. Henry couldn’t take it anymore. She must have the lung capacity of a God. Her gums had been flapping for such a long time, Henry searched for a gun as they walked. Finally, she was done with her story. Henry internally let out a sigh of relief. That was until it started again, she started talking about something else. Henry got pushed over the edge.

“Jesus Christ, do you ever shut up?!”

Donna paused, startled. Henry realized what he had just said, only after the sour words had escaped his mouth. He didn’t know what to do, as Donna just stared at him, no detectable features on her face. Henry was terrified. Was she angry? Was she sad? Was she insulted? He couldn’t tell. This must be what other people feel when they look at him. The fear of the unknown, the anxiety and regret of the previous sentence that was made. It was a terrible, overtaking feeling that only could be felt in the worst ways. Henry couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t stand the icky feeling of guilt, of unknown, he hated it. If this is what other people feel when they try to speak with him, he vowed to never be so quiet, ever again, and talk like a normal person. Donna’s features were incomprehensible, and it was one of the most nerve-wracking moments of his life. Suddenly, her face thawed like an icicle in the summer, and that scowl turned into a big smile. She put her arm around Cordovan’s shoulders.

“So you can talk! How about that! I was beginning to think you were deaf, or something.”

Henry was relieved. He was a little uncomfortable with the physicalness of it, but he was okay.

“You’re one tough egg to crack, kid. You should talk more, though.”

“I’ll try,” was all he said.

Donna turned her attention toward a figure walking to them. Donna recognized him immediately.

“Hey, that’s the guy that came into my shop, the big one with the suit that was looking for town hall,” she whispered to Cordovan.

Henry shrugged and looked back at the man, who was now face to face with them.

“Young man and young lady,” he started, “have you seen the mayor.”

“Damn, you came to the wrong town, sir. Our mayor went missing. We’re all looking for him,” said Donna.

“Missing?” asked the man.

“Yeah, missing. Sucks, huh?” said the mechanic.

“Yes… Very inconvenient.”

“What do you want from the mayor, anyway,” said Henry, his suspicions for the man growing.

“Nothing that concerns you, sir. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

The man walked away, leaving the lawyer and the mechanic very confused. There was then a small hand on Donna’s lower arm. Startled, she and Henry turned around to see the young Oliver Donovan, smiling, his front teeth missing and looking grubby as ever.

“Hey, it’s Oliver Donovan! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the school,” said Donna.

“Well, the shool is not isn’t impurtint, right here… I have a very good news to say you.”

Oliver wasn’t a very smart child.

“What is it?”

“I founded my dad.”

Henry and Donna made eye contact, both surprised and curious at the same time.

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Grown men don’t usually cry. Grown men aren’t supposed to cry. Or at least, that was a certain mantra that Kevin Patterson told himself. Grown men don’t cry. Grown people don’t cry. Adults don’t cry. Yet, there he was, in an elementary school bathroom, crying in a ball, on top of the toilet seat, inside a stall. Why had he done what he did? Why did he just have to punch Ace Fisher in the face? In front of the whole Goddamn school? Did he just have to? He spent his whole career spreading an anti-violence message to kids. He just punched a man in the face, in front of those same kids. What was he thinking? Why was he thinking it? It’s true, Ace Fisher got on his nerves a little bit, but never in a million years would Kevin think of actually punching someone, just because they got on his nerves. Especially not in front of such a big crowd. Such a big crowd of people that looked up to him, as a father, as a friend, as a teacher. And he made an absolute ass of himself. He cried harder into his knees, feeling once again like the high school boy he used to be. He suddenly heard a knock on the stall door. Kevin didn’t answer. A few seconds later, there was a second knock. Kevin didn’t answer. He was too ashamed.

“Kevin?” said the unsure voice on the other side.

It was Ace Fisher. Kevin couldn’t say anything to him. How could he after the stunt he just pulled?

“Kevin, it’s Ace… I’m really sorry about what happened before… I shouldn’t have said all those things… It was my fault. I don’t blame you at all. I shouldn’t have provoked you like that.”

That word. Provoked. It led Kevin to thinking… He put two and two together.

“You did it on purpose?” said the teacher.

He heard Ace sigh on the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry… I know I shouldn’t have, it’s just that you kept talking about education, and how important it was, and how stupid people would be without it… I got annoyed. It felt like you were calling me stupid. I thought that if I provoked you in front of your kids, I might get back at you for the way you made me feel… But if I had known that you were going to… you know… I wouldn’t have, honest.”

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If anyone else in Penny Lane heard that story, they wouldn’t have the damndest idea why anyone would try to make, angelic, kind, intelligent, wonderful, Mr. Patterson. But to Kevin, he understood perfectly. Maybe it was true that he made men without education look… pretty bad in what he was saying. It didn’t mean that Ace had to go and do a thing like that in front of everyone, but it sure gave him a good reason. They were both to blame in this situation, and it was sad for him. He didn’t think that he could be such a jerk. He sighed.

“Gosh, Ace, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“It’s fine. What I did was so much worse, and I really do apologize for that.”

Kevin got up and opened the stall door, smiling at Ace. The latter pulled him in for a hug. Kevin could smell the horrible, nauseating stench of uneducation. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to start it up again.

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Hazel and Beckett practically ran into the hospital, holding Delahaye’s body in hand. They put him down on a hospital bed. Hazel put on her lab coat and grabbed her stethoscope. She rushed to the bed and put her stethoscope against his heart. It was abnormally high. There was something strange happening with him. She furrowed her eyebrows and turned toward Beckett. She had panic in her eyes, which made the latter nervous.

“Go get a nurse,” she said. “He’s going to need surgery.”

Terrified out of his life, Beckett ran out of the room to go get a nurse. Just then, Jo walked in.

“I saw you run into the hospital, what happened?” she said.

Hazel looked down at Delahaye and looked back up at Jo with scared eyes.

“Beckett’s supposed to go get a nurse, but he’s taking too long. Jo, you have to help me.”

“For what?”

“The surgery.”

“Surgery?!”

“I need a nurse, and I have no nurse. You need to help me.”

“I don’t know anything about medicine, I’m a builder!”

“If you don’t help me right now, this man is going to die!”

Jo nodded and washed her hands, and ran to a table with a bunch of tools on them.

“Get me a scalpel.”

Jo furrowed her eyebrows.

“The what…?”

“The scalpel. A silver knife-type thing. It’s sharp,” said the doctor, putting on her gloves.

Jo passed her the scalpel.

“There’s a plate with the names of every tool on it. Go study it while I start. Put on gloves and a mask.”

Jo nodded and did so. Hazel put on her mask as well. She didn’t even know if she could trust Jo, but she would have to trust her with this. There wasn’t anything that she could do. Jo intently read all of the names on the plate. Delahaye’s breathing sped up to an even stranger extent. A bad sign. She took the gas mask and put it over his face. She then signed Jo to come over and press the mask against his face. She complied. Jo Feldman had never been more nervous in her entire life. She was medically working on somebody, who’s life was in her hands. He could die, and that would be partly her fault. Her hands were sweating - a bad thing for a nurse. Hazel cut him open, checking for something strange inside. There were a lot of abnormalities. For one, his heart was beating so fast, that it was moving around and draining the blood from everywhere else. She had to steady it, and place everything back in its proper place. She furrowed his eyebrows and turned toward Jo.

“Forceps,” she said.

Jo passed her the forceps, still keeping a hand over the gasmask. She watched Hazel move a couple of things around and wipe the sweat off her brow. The adrenaline was high. Too high.

“Retractor.”

Jo nodded and passed her the retractor. Jo’s heart was racing like crazy, it felt like it was going to burst out of nervousness. The surgery was going well. But Hazel didn’t want to jinx it.

“Cloth.”

Jo passed her a cloth so that Hazel could soak up all of the blood that spilled around him and the bed. Suddenly, Beckett and a nurse walked in. Jo was absolutely relieved. She could now leave, for the real nurse was here. Said real nurse took over Jo’s spot, and Hazel nodded to the latter as she exited the room. She waited on a bench outside. After about ten minutes, it was finally over and Hazel came out of the room. She sat down next to her.

“You did good in there,” said the doctor.

“Did I? I was freaking out the whole time… I thought I was going to die.”

There was a pause in the conversation.

“Do patients ever…”

“Of course. All the time, even,” said Hazel.

“Oh,” said Jo. “How do you deal with it?”

Kinsley sighed.

“I don’t know. I guess I just tell myself that I save more lives than I end. It helps a little, but it still hurts. It puts a lot of pressure on everything I do. Stresses me out like hell.”

“Yeah, but how do you live with yourself after?”

Hazel didn’t answer. The conversation changed after a solid thirty seconds of silence.

“I’m sorry, Jo. I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. It wasn’t nice of me.”

“It’s okay. I see the stress that you’re under, now, and I feel bad for not exactly helping to relieve it.”

“That’s alright, Jo, it’s not your fault.”

“Okay, well I forgive you. And I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you too,” said the doctor. “Anything for my friend.”

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Chapter 6

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Elliott Delahaye woke up in a hospital bed. He was confused by the yellowed lights and the scratchy sheets. How did he end up in the hospital? Then he felt it. The stinging pain in his lower abdomen overthrew his entire demeanor. He had never felt pain like that in his life. He looked down and saw a sewn-up wound, dry blood dusting the exterior. He almost threw up at the sight, but at least he knew why he was in such pain. Suddenly, Adam Beckett walked into the room, stopping dryly as he noticed Delahaye’s eyes open. He ran over to the bed. Delahaye sat up, startled and a bit nervous as to why the fireman was so excited to see him.

“You’re awake?!” he exclaimed.

“Um… Yeah…” said Elliott. What, uh, what happened?”

“Well, you fainted at the police station, and I brought you to the doctor. She said you had some thing in your body, I don’t remember what it was called, but your organs weren’t in the right place. She had to rearrange them. You’re fine now, she did a bang-up job, but she said that you need some rest.”

The word rest made his eyes grow wide with panic.

“No! I can’t rest until I find the mayor!”

The policeman tried to get up, but as soon as he moved his middle, his entire body shut down in pain. He immediately sat back down, breathing heavily and holding his lower abdomen in his hands. He groaned in pain.

“See? You need rest. The search can wait.”

“No, you don’t understand, it can’t wait!”

He grabbed onto Beckett’s forearms and pulled him closer to himself.

“I need to find the mayor.”

“Other people are on it. Don’t worry, okay?”

“No, Beckett, you really don’t understand,” he squeezed Adam’s forearms. “If I don’t find the mayor, everyone will know that I’m a hack. Everyone will know that I’m just some stupid, incompetent idiot child that shouldn’t even be in the police force, let alone the chief! Everyone’s going to find out how much I’ve been faking it, this whole time. How I’ve been faking the fact that I know what I’m doing, when I’m really just a clueless kid who had no idea what he’s doing here, and who should not be in here, in that line of work, or anywhere near it!”

Beckett made Elliott let go of his arms. He looked at the latter with apologetic eyes.

“Delahaye, no one thinks any of that stuff. Look, you’re young and you have a pretty high status. Big deal. What’s going to turn people off about your whole schtick is that you constantly put so much pressure on yourself. People love you, whether you like it or not. And you’re doing an amazing job as chief policeman. Believe it or not, you’re an amazing policeman. Just relax and enjoy the ride. You know why you’re in the hospital? Because your heart was beating so fast, that it moved around all of your organs. Stress did this to you. Just stop being so nervous all the time, and learn to live through life. You know what I mean?”

Elliott nodded, smiling a little.

Suddenly, in rushed Donna Hitchcock and Henry Cordovan. Delahaye furrowed his eyebrows.

“Officer Delahaye! Dr. Kinsley said that we could find you here…”

“Oh, hello.”

“We have good news,” said Donna, “we found the mayor!”

Delahaye sat up straight out of surprise.

“You did?! Where is he?!”

“Actully, I did founded the mayor my dad,” said Oliver Donovan, walking into the doorframe.

Delahaye was surprised. Oliver Donovan’s head was as empty as a flowerpot.

“You did? Where is he?”

“Right here,” said the mayor, walking into the doorframe as well.

“Mayor Donovan! Are you okay? What happened?”

“I was… I was hiding,” he said with his head down, almost ashamed.

“Hiding? From who?” said Beckett.

“From me,” said the man in the suit that Donna met in her service shop, walking into the doorframe as well.

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All six of them gasped. Beckett had his hand on Delahaye’s gun, which was removed before the surgery. He didn’t know who that was, he definitely wasn’t from Penny Lane, but he could be dangerous. Especially if the mayor admitted to hiding from him, who knows who that is? A hitman? An assassin? Wait, those are synonyms. Regardless, he could be wildly dangerous for all anyone knows. Mayor Donovan wiped the sweat from his brow as the tension of the room grew, each waking second. The mayor cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered.

“You can’t run from this, Mike,” said the man.

“Watch me, you son of a bitch.”

“Son of a bitch? We have the same mother!”

Everyone was shocked. The man that Donovan was hiding from was…his brother?

“The hypothetical mother, you idiot.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Delahaye.

“I asked him to babysit my kids while I go on a business trip, and he keeps hiding from me! Even though he promised, and even though he agreed.”

“He’s not telling you the full story,” said the mayor. “There's four of them. Four boys. Four toddler boys. Four toddler boys, each worse than the last. Little satanists who can ruin your life.”

“They’re my kids, Mike, for God’s sake!”

“They take after you!”

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The bickering continued, and everyone else was wildly confused. All of this, the whole craze, everything that happened was because the mayor didn’t want to become a babysitting service. ‘What a bum’, thought Beckett to himself. Everyone felt like they had just gone through such a waste of time, such a waste of energy and such a waste of fear. Hell, Delahaye got a surgery, wastefully and unnecessarily.

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Things returned quite quickly back to normal, after the mayor was found… ‘Normal’. Of course, a couple of changes were made. First of all, the mayor stopped doing his own morning announcements, he was too busy taking care of five children. Beckett and Delahaye took over that spot, both becoming very close with each other, after the whole fiasco. Delahaye realized that Beckett was smarter than he looked, and gave him genuinely good advice. More changes were made, first of all, Emory Scott wasn’t always in such a bad mood. He would wake up in the morning, look over Penny Lane and think to himself, ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ which wasn’t a new phenomenon. What was new was that he’d follow that thought with ‘but now that I am here, I might as well make the best of it…’. Him and Connor started hanging out a lot more, and the latter tried to help him reach his folks, back in Sheffield. Of course, Emory would end up chickening out. Instead of making fun of him, like he used to, Connor would smile, say that he understood, and continue to reassure him by sitting next to him, glued to his side, rubbing his back and trying his best to be as tender as he possibly could. This would happen every other week. Connor and Emory grew close. Very close. So close, it raised many eyebrows that begged the question: what happened? I mean, they remember the rivalry… What happened?

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Hazel Kinsley really did try. And she succeeded. She tried to come out of her shell, talk with everyone a little bit, and she eventually stopped worrying so much about everything all the time. She would wave to Jo, say hello, even, and they became friends. For real, this time. Jo understood the perspective of someone who may be under so much pressure, that it’s a bit strange to be barked at by a stranger. The builder decided to watch herself a little before talking to someone who might have trouble in that domain. And of course, Hazel was careful so that she could only be antisocial at the right moments; when it didn’t affect anybody else, personally.

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The performers continued on with their rivalry. Was Mckay regretful for what he had done? Or what he hadn’t done? To be truthful, he was. He had a lot of regret for rejecting that scholarship. But his values were just elsewhere than becoming famous; he cared for Penny Lane, and he didn’t want to leave. He and MacCay continued along with their feud, but now they both knew that it was fueled by care and friendship. Mckay forever hoped that this would be the best decision of his life, and that he wouldn’t wake up every morning with the stinging feeling that he had lost the greatest opportunity of his entire life. But for now, he was okay.

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Kevin Patterson had learned that there could be someone that he doesn’t like. He didn’t like Ace Fisher. Even after the apology, there was just something about him, a reverse je-ne-sais-quoi. There was something about that painter that made his blood boil, his brain cuss, and his teeth grit. He despised him. But of course, he wasn’t open about his hatred. He was very nice to Fisher, trying his best not to let it show that he was beyond himself with detestation every time he saw him. Little did he know that the feeling was mutual. Ace always hated nerds.

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As for Henry Cordovan, Penny Lane just happened to be lucky enough to find out what his voice sounded like, gradually, but surely. He realized that it wasn’t such a bad thing to have a life outside of work, outside of the law. He wasn’t only impressed with the listening skills of others, but himself as well. People have interesting follow-ups to share, Henry just had to give them a chance. He developed some more patience and a social skill known as talking - something he very much didn’t possess before the fiasco. Meanwhile Donna decided to pay extra attention to who walked into her service shop with a suit and a weird question. Donna and Henry became very good friends after all of what happened.

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It was a bad experience, but not so bad…

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Epilogue

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The mayor was released from his one-week sentence of babysitting. The children drove him absolutely crazy. Every second, all four of them, spitting in his face, pulling his hair, laughing, crying, screaming…. It was like he was living with five mentally ill monkeys. The fifth being Oliver, because he still existed, of course. So it wasn’t just the annoying nephews, but his own son as well. It was one of the most awful experiences of his life, there was never a quiet moment. The full week, he couldn’t leave his house. Since the kids were away from home, they couldn’t go to school. So, Oliver went to school, but the four nephews stayed with him. And he had to stay with them. He hesitantly gave the job of mayor to his ‘second in command’. The morning announcements were taken over by Beckett and Delahaye. But now, he was free from jail, his brother came back and took the kids. Today, the mayor was leaving the house for the first time in a week. The sun attacked his eyes harshly as he attempted to get used to the outside world. Whistling, and feeling like he was on a cloud, he skipped along the street, into the main area, ready to see all of his friends. The first person he saw was Kevin Patterson, who was outside, due to recess, and was talking to Ace Fisher through the fence. ‘Since when does Ace go outside?’ he thought to himself. They both waved, smiled at and greeted the mayor when they saw him. As he walked away, he picked up a couple of bits from their very loud conversation. It started with Kevin.

“What are you doing here, Ace?”

“I’m here to humiliate you again… Wanna punch me, sweetheart?” he said sarcastically, trying to get Kevin's goat.

Kevin rolled his eyes and bit back a scowl.

“Kind of. But I won’t. And fuck you, by the way.”

The mayor was stunned at Kevin’s language. He had never heard him curse before. But then it hit him.

‘Again?’, he thought to himself.

He shook his head and looked over at the bakery. It seemed that Emory wasn’t in today. He looked over at the bar. It seemed that Connor wasn’t there either. Suddenly, he saw them, laughing and smiling together, practically skipping and holding hands as they trotted along the sidewalk. The mayor had his jaw on the floor. He had never seen anything like that in all of his forty-one years of living. He was stunned.

“Oh, hi, Mayor Donovan,” said Emory with a smile.

“Ditto,” said Connor as they passed him.

The mayor was frozen. He had no idea what was going on here.

‘Since when does that happen, and since when does Emory smile?!’, he thought to himself.

He saw Beckett from a far distance.

‘Finally, someone normal,’ he thought to himself.

Then he saw that Delahaye was with him…in a wheelchair.

“Morning, Mayor Donovan,” they both said in unison.

Donovan had never been more confused in his entire life. He was so weirded out, that his brain was hurting and he felt lightheaded and dizzy. Henry Cordovan walked up behind him.

“Weird, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah, super weird.”

Henry laughed and walked away. That’s when Donovan realized.

‘Since when does Cordovan fucking talk?!?!’.

After gathering all the information from the simple ten minutes that he spent in Post-Disappearance Penny Lane, he came to the ultimate conclusion that that was the last time he was ever going to leave that stupid, Goddamn town alone, ever, ever, ever again.

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END

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