Innocence on Film

Published by Evernight Publishing ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2015 Lilith Duvalier

ISBN: 978-1-77233-290-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Melissa Hosack

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

INNOCENCE ON FILM

Selling Out, 1

Lilith Duvalier

Copyright © 2015

Technically, Mr. Schalmann told Shawn, It’s a layoff.

The man looked tired, Shawn realized. His wrinkled eyes were sunken into the dark circles sitting underneath them and his enormous white walrus mustache, always so meticulously combed, had a teeny bit of mustard clinging to it. If Shawn had been a different type of person, or employee, he might have managed to feel bad for Mr. Schalmann. He may have found some pity for the man.

But Shawn was good at his job and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the hospital choosing to lay him off instead of a score of other lazy, stupid orderlies had anything to do with his performance. He was being laid off because he’d worked here since college, he’d been promoted three times, and he was the highest paid non-supervisor in his department. They were laying people off to cut corners. He was a big corner.

What’s the difference? Shawn demanded. He wanted to cross his arms, make himself look bigger or older, but he stopped himself. He was scrawny and tall, the muscle that he did have didn’t make him look any more intimidating. He left his long limbs piled up in his lap, and set his bony jaw harder.

Mr. Schalmann sighed. He brushed a liver spot covered hand over his mustache, smoothing it, then he smoothed his lab coat with the same motion. A layoff means that I would be more than happy to provide you with a stellar reference, we’ll cash you out for your PTO, and should the hospital find itself able to fund your position again, we will contact you to offer reinstatement.

Shawn nodded. There wasn’t anything to say to that.

He could see his own face in the mirror behind Mr. Schalmann. He looked younger than he felt. His hair was dark and shaggy. He needed to get it cut, but couldn’t afford it right now. He’d finally hit one last growth spurt in college, which had pushed him above six feet tall, but hadn’t filled him out like he had hoped it would. He wasn’t a knock kneed streak of bones and elbows and adams apple anymore, but he was still lanky.

Mr. Schalmann sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, his pretense of professionalism shrugged off suddenly. This’ll be good for you, kid. You’re twenty-three. The hours here are terrible. Enjoy some time off. Go to a kegger. Get some sleep. Find a girl.

Yeah, cause beer, beds, and dates are all free, Shawn said evenly. And they just give away higher education in this country. Free textbooks used to show up at my door at the beginning of the semester in boxes of steak and condoms. It’s not like I’ve got sixty grand in student loans out there collecting interest.

Schalmann pursed his lips, stood up, and extended a stiff arm.

Shawn also stood. He gave Schalmann’s hand a cursory shake and dropped it immediately.

We’ll mail you your last check, Schalmann said.

Shawn was already walking out and didn’t bother to turn around.

He left the hospital and walked two blocks to the bus stop. The 16U was a sketchy fucking bus no matter what time of day it was. Right now, at 5:20 on a Wednesday, there was a drunk homeless guy inside the little plexi-glass bus shelter, dick out, peeing onto an advertisement for Medica Health Insurance.

It was official. Shawn was fucked.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, went to messages, and tapped his ongoing text conversation with Fletcher. His thumb hovered above the key pad. He need to tell Fletcher that the ax had fallen and the last little bit of hope they’d had was gone.

They’d been behind on the rent ever since the internet startup where Fletcher worked had gone belly up three months ago. The landlord had told them this was their last chance. He had demanded this month’s rent in full, and half of last month’s. He’d told them if they made that, he’d work on a payment plan for the rest of it. He was a nice guy, and it was a very reasonable offer, and Fletcher and Shawn had never had a chance of making it.

And now there was no way in hell it would happen.

This lay off was the death knell of all of their dreams.

So, the question remained, did Shawn tell Fletcher that now, or wait until he got home?

The peeing hobo shook off, tucked himself back into his jeans, then bent over and heaved up reeking alcohol vomit. Shawn stepped outside the bus shelter just as the 16U pulled up. He swiped his metro card over the sensor, noting that he was down to $4.50, just enough money to get home tonight and get to a job he no longer had in the morning.

He wanted to scream. To curse out the city, the bus, the hobo, the hospital, his university, his student loans, his high school girlfriend Arla Gaither, and every decision that had taken him out of Iowa to this god forsaken city. Then he wanted to curse Iowa itself.

He dropped his head against the bus window and settled for texting Fletcher.

He went through a handful of drafts before arriving at the message that finally warranted the send button.

Just got laid off, bro. It’s really over now.

He watched his phone, waiting for a reply. The ellipsis indicating Fletcher’s imminent reply came up, disappeared, then popped up and disappeared a third, fourth, and fifth time before a message finally came through.

Meet you at the Amsterdam?

Shawn scoffed. The last thing they could afford right now was going out.

Are you crazy? I got laid off. No more money. No more rent. No more apartment. We can’t afford to go out.

The gray dots came up again. Shawn waited.

Landlord has been pretty clear. No more chances. How much of a difference is $40 of beer going to make right now? See you in 15?

Shawn frowned, then thought about it. The worst part was that Fletcher was right. Forty bucks either way wouldn’t make or break them anymore. It was too late. They were too far behind on their bills. They might as well have a send off tonight, bus home, and pack hung over.

A last hurrah was all they had left.

Shawn sighed and texted back.

Yeah. See you in 15.

****

Innocence: Take One

Fletcher and Shawn were playing outlaws today. Merry Men, actually, just like in the movie. Fletcher got to be Robin Hood first because he just had his birthday, and he was six now and got to watch more of the TV movies without having his eyes covered. Shawn was playing the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Take that! And that! Fletcher yelled, brandishing one of the biggest stick-swords.

Shawn fended him off with a garbage can lid they stole from the heap of old stuff in Shawn’s barn and tried to whack his friend with his own sword stick.

You can’t kill me, I’m the Sheriff! Shawn yelled back. I’ll take you to jail and lock you up forever!

Okay, but soon I have to kill you so I can rescue Maid Marian, Fletcher whispered. You had to whisper when you were being yourself instead of playing the game.

I know, Shawn whispered back, but you said I get to be Robin Hood when he kills Prince John. You said we were going to take turns.

Fletcher nodded, still holding up his sword like they did during TV sword fights. Okay, he whispered. So I’ll kill you, and then you can kill me, and then you can be Maid Marian and I’ll rescue you and bring you back to Secret Place for lunch.

Shawn huffed and lowered his garbage can shield down so that the edge was on the ground. The metal was thin, but the shield was still heavy.

The patch of woods between cropland where they played was muggy and airless today; the thick trees felt like they were holding in all of the heat. Shawn and Fletcher hadn’t felt the breeze all day. Shawn’s forehead was dripping and his shirt was sticking to him everywhere.

Why do I have to be Maid Marian? Shawn asked.

Because you got to be the best bad guy, Fletcher answered. And it’ll be my turn to be Robin Hood after you kill me while I’m Prince John.

Shawn sighed. Fine. He lifted his shield up again and whacked Fletcher’s sword stick with his own. They fought until Shawn lifted up his arm so Fletcher could stick his sword underneath it and Shawn could pretend to die and then become Robin Hood.

The longer they were out playing, the worse the heat got. Shawn wanted to make the most of his turn to be Robin Hood, but lunch and a cold drink at Secret Place won out in the end. The fight between Prince John and Robin Hood was short, and Shawn became Maid Marian with no argument, letting himself be rescued and brought back to Secret Place, which today was serving as The Merry Men’s camp in Sherwood Forest.

Most of Secret Place had been built before Shawn and Fletcher found it. Someone had built what was essentially a large wooden tent out in the middle of the copse of trees. Fletcher had stolen a plastic blue tarp from his family’s shed and Shawn had snuck a bunch of garden twine out of his mother’s junk drawer. Together, the boys had covered the wooden slatting with the tarp to make it waterproof, and now it served as their clubhouse and weapons storage, full of sticks tied together to make swords, or twigs bent into bows. The garbage can shield was the only one, and sometimes Shawn let Fletcher borrow it.

The boys had made a stone circle and heaped sticks into a pile in front of Secret Place. They had to pretend it was actually on fire because neither of them had learned how to make a fire using just sticks yet. They had both been promised that eventually, they would get to go to Boy Scout Camp, and they would learn how.

Welcome to Sherwood Forest, Maid Marian! Fletcher said in his booming Robin Hood voice. He waved grandly at the blue tarp full of sticks. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.

And then Fletcher bent down, put his forearm to the back of Shawn’s knees, and scooped him up.

What are you doing? Shawn demanded, going stiff with surprise when he felt himself lifted up into the air.

They do this in the movie, Fletcher whispered in reply.

Shawn huffed, but let Fletcher carry him a few staggering steps under the tarp.

I hope you’ll think of this place as your home, Fletcher said. His Robin Hood voice was disrupted by his panting breath. He was bigger than Shawn and always had been, but he wasn’t big enough to carry him. He dropped Shawn’s legs and they hit the ground hard. Shawn laughed at him and was about