Painkilling Pariah » Yeah-Yeah

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» December 23, 1959 »

The O'Donnelly family was a mess. Peggy hadn't been home in two days, thus Walter and Hellen were worried about their eldest. The air was thick with angst and the whole family knew something was wrong. In addition to their missing eighteen year old daughter, their twelve year old son, Warren, wasn't home in time for supper.

In their table for six, only four of the family members were seated. Mrs. O'Donnelly had barely touched her portion of the meatloaf she prepared and watched warily as her husband scarfed down his plate and downed his beer. Nine year old Charla quietly ate her mashed potatoes, and the silence was chilling. Darrel, being only six years of age, brought up the dreaded question.

"Where's Warren?" his tiny voice questioned with an obviously dithery tone.

Mrs. O'Donnelly opened her mouth to speak, but Walter beat her to it. "He'll be home soon. Get to bed now, we're entering the later hours of the evening."

"Goodnight, Papa," Charla and Darrel's voices overlapped one another's as they scampered up the stairs to get ready for bed.

The mother picked up the discarded dishes and entered the kitchen to wash them. Mr. O'Donnelly followed her and leaned against the counter with his meaty arms folded against his chest. "I'm worried, Hellen," he confessed, a spacey look glazing over his cold eyes of ice. "Why wouldn't Warren return home for supper? He specifically requested for you to make his favorite meal tonight, why would he skip it?"

Hellen put her yellow dish gloves on and tied her apron. She ran the cold water over the dirty dishes and silverware. "I wish I could tell you, Walter. It's so out of character for him to do such a rebellious thing." It was quiet for a second before she averted her warm brown eyes to her spouse's worried face. "Have you heard anything from Peggy?"

He clenched his chiseled jaw. "Not a thing. I'm telling you, this has something to do with that Gordon Francis boy," he insisted. "He hasn't been seen in two days, either."

"I'm sure it's a coincidence, dear. You know the boy has these episodes often," Hellen assured him. "He leaves town for a few days, then comes back. That's how it's been since he was eighteen, and that's how he'll be for as long as he'd like."

The couple sat warily in their family room in complete silence. The only noise that could be heard was the ticking of the clock and the horn of a freight train a few towns over. The room was illuminated only by a dim lamp and the Christmas tree they put up a couple of weeks prior.

Surprisingly the landline rang and Hellen dove for the phone. "Hello? It's Hellen O'Donnelly," she spoke desperately into the transmitter.

Walter watched anxiously with his eyebrows knitted together as the color drained from his wife's face. Her hand clasped over her moth as she gasped and her eyes teared up. He sprung to his feet once she hung up the phone.

"He's gone, Walter. Warren's gone," Mrs. O'Donnelly told her husband. Immediately he felt his heart stop and his mind go blank.