Part 1 of 1
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Tonight our private investigator, Mulligan Smith, conducts an unpleasant interview with a youthful caretaker.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP298 - Mulligan Smith in Lingering, Part 1 of 1
Some days, gloomy, my hours are slumberless Dearest, the shadows I live with find nonetheless Little white flowers will never awaken you Not where the bright coach is all I'm taking you Angels have no fire ever returning you Or they're the angry of fire, so they'll join in you Ooooh, Sunday Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 298 This evening we present Malagan Smith in Lingering, part one of one This week's episodes are brought to you by the Hollywood Outsider podcast Yes, we know there's a million podcasts out there, but there's only one Hollywood Outsider Every week your hoes, Aaron, Brian, Justin and Scott put their own spin on the latest in movie and TV news, new and upcoming releases, topics that are on ours or our listeners' minds and hell, we even throw in some trivia where you can win a cavalcade of imaginary prizes Most importantly, we have fun doing it So come take a listen, Hollywood Outsider is available on iTunes, Zoom, Stitcher Radio or at TheHollywoodOutcider.com Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings Tonight, our private investigator, Malagan Smith, conducts an unpleasant interview with a youthful caretaker Malagan Smith in Lingering, part one of one Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration by Poponex and audio produced by Jessica May The conversation had fallen into a lull and Malagan could find little more to do than stare at the fake wood pattern of the table top Finally, after brushing back a loose strand of dirty blonde hair, the girl said "I remember the first time that he didn't come back when he said he would" Smith nodded, not wanting to slow the momentum of her telling I mean, he'd been taking his time more and more When mom got sick, we couldn't afford like a home or anything So she just stayed at the house I don't even know what it was like before then I was too small In the beginning, Dad was working long days in a factory He was making like plastic riot gear or stuff The thing is, the worse she got, the more he disappeared One night, a couple of years in, when she really couldn't get up anymore She managed to twist herself into lying on top of the tube for her pee bag I wasn't able to roll her over She was kind of panicking She was still mostly speaking then, and it got me upset And I was trying to shove her over, but I wasn't strong enough to do it He finally showed the next morning I met him at the door when I heard the keys scraping at the lock They kept muttering about going to bed It took a big fight to convince him that he needed to be done But together we managed to get mom moved For a long while after, I would sit in the chair beside mom for hours Worrying that it was going to happen again Or that some other emergency was going to come up And I wouldn't be able to deal with it That was when I was little though, like eleven or something By fourteen, I was handling everything I wasn't seeing Dad often, and it was like one of those meth warning posters, you know I'd see him once every couple of weeks, and he'd be thinner His eyes would be cloudier He was working on and off, but I never knew where we'd get the money to cover the month's bills I would basically wait till he was passed out in his room, then hook a water cash on his wallet and stash it for food Which, frankly, he'd eventually eat most of when he decided to stumble in after a binge I did some online stuff, filling out surveys and work from home crap But it barely made anything, and we only had free dial up Meaning we were screwed whenever the phone company unplugged us That's usually when I'd have to pawn something At least I knew a place that didn't look at mom's ID and pointed out that I wasn't thirty-five But if mom hadn't inherited the house, I think we would have been homeless pretty early on Anyhow, like I was saying, I woke one night when I was fourteen And there he was, with his pants around his ankles I mean, I shared the same friggin room with her That wasn't what pissed me off the most though He was talking to himself I mean, trying to woo her, I guess But, by then the best she could do was grunt yes or no But she was definitely making her no sound The teen paused, gritting her teeth, and Smith did his best to nod comfortably Noting the emotional exchange, the uniformed man at the door raised an eyebrow at the pair But the private investigator simply shrugged and replied Finally, the girl continued Mom's cane was by the dresser It was from the early days of her illness When we had a bit of extra money for medical stuff And even after it was obvious she wasn't going to be walking again I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it He was standing there in the dark, rocking gently back and forth Like he was on a moving boat And he was having trouble getting Mom's legs sorted I kept seeing flashes of white skin in the light that came through the curtain crack And his muttering just went on and on Talking about how he was gonna fix her once he got her fixed I lost it I grabbed the cane by the bottom of the shaft And swung like it was the World Series Caught him on the ear The next day, across his temple, he could still see the mark from where the handle went from metal to padding He hit me back, but he was so high, it was like being beaten by one of those big plastic dancing men You see on top of gas stations You know, the ones that stand in the wind and wiggle around Anyway, I got him out of the room I didn't sleep the rest of the night I just sat on the lip of Mom's bed, turning the cane around in my hands Feeling for all its little cool spots It was a few days later when he stole all Mom's meds to sell I tried the law, I tried growing through the courts But it was impossible After the first time I called the cops, he was smart enough not to bring his meth home And he only came back when he needed money or food Or a good night's sleep Social services came around once But he managed to convince them that I was just going through a hard phase in life With Mom being in the condition she was and his being out of work And supposedly spending long days looking for a job The lady ended up giving me almost like a speech about not crying wolf And how I should appreciate what I had When she left, he told me that if I ever tried anything like it again He'd had me removed from the house and he'd take care of Mom himself He randomly started slapping me then He wasn't my dad anymore The drugs had turned him into some sort of angry lizard person All knuckles and unpredictability After that, I knew I was on my own I mean, maybe there was another solution But I was... I was so frustrated, so scared, so friggin' exhausted I felt 90 I knew Mom didn't have a long left And I just wanted her to have some peace She was locked in there, which was the saddest part I'd read to her, and she was really into, you know, books with castles and magic and justice I mean, we both were I still am, I guess But it's impossible to find anything decent in here Anyhow, she'd try to say stuff And it would just make her mad that she couldn't talk properly But her eyes Her eyes were always so warm And thankful and wet like she was trying to cry But her body was too broken to let her If Mulligan had not been a man who paid his bills with his observations He would have missed the practice motion that casually wiped away the damp on her cheek "I looked it up on the internet," said the girl Knowing which kind was best and how much it would take Was a lot easier to understand some of the medical articles I had to plow through for Mom Buying helium wasn't much of a problem And we already had an oven bag and the tubing I was pretty used to dealing with that sort of business by then So it almost felt like I was just administering another type of meds when I tucked it over his head It was exactly like I'd read I mean, I wasn't exactly using it for suicide like it's supposed to be But there was no struggle or anything No coughing He just stopped snoring eventually Though, I think he was so stoned I'm not sure he could have gotten up if he happened to notice I was killing him I watched his warm breath build up on the inside of the bag Then, when it stopped, I removed everything, walked four blocks And chucked it all in the dumpster I didn't feel much different than having to empty Mom's pee bag One of the reasons the euthanasia folks like that way of doing it Is because it's so hard to trace I talked to a couple of the MS people and a police officer But I guess drug testing had them convinced he'd just overdosed I kept expecting to be hauled off That everything was finally over, but nothing happened Mom passed eight months later I was holding her at the time I turned myself in for murder later that day I hadn't even called 911 about her body yet I had no money and I didn't trust the social services people So, I don't know what other option I had Smith looked to his left His gaze sweeping across the cream-colored cafeteria That acted as capital city juvenile detention centers visitation area At least I get to go to school in here The girl finished Melgin closed the notebook he'd kept on hand The fresh page still unmarked "I think my client is just gonna have to accept the loss of his heirloom," he said "It's pretty clear your dad smoked or injected whatever it was worth" "I guess I could give the pawn shop," he mentioned to try "Maybe the owner was allowing trade from a minor because he knew your pops and how hard up you were" Anyway, since your parole officer has cleared me on the list Might as well use the access, right? Most of those shops have a pretty decent selection of books I'll grab you a couple of slabs of swords and sorcery The girl let her tears flow then And she did not hide them Flashpulp is presented by flashpulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skier@skinner.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792 but be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast We'd also like to thank the Freesound Project found at freesound.org For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com And thanks to you for listening! If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends! [Music]