Give a Cry out for Liberty

Part One

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Frankie Foster could only sit and wonder how such a perfect autumn afternoon could have gone south so quickly.

She was used to the chaos that helping run a place like Foster's brought, (and even that was becoming increasingly easier as everyone was finally getting settled into the new routine of the Fair Chore Act) but nothing had prepared her for this.

Frankie! Frankie!

Wilt, what's the matter – Oh, Oh my god!

She needs our help!

Where did it all go wrong?

It had all started so blissfully; she had managed to squeeze in a little break while waiting for the laundry to finish in the dryer, sipping lemon tea out of her favorite mug; a cup with the Gorillaz band logo on it. She had been watching Mac and Bloo playing yet another one of their games on the front lawn from an upstairs window.

Bloo had somehow roped Mac into making an endearing little competition out of doing his share of the chores together. She didn't mind; having someone like Mac with him ensured that he didn't slack off or manipulate someone else into doing it for him and making it into a game often resulted in whatever was assigned being done much quicker. One day, it'd be whomever could scrub their half of the floor the fastest, another would be who could wash their stack of dishes first.

Today she had giggled so blithely as she stared down at them from out the window as they bickered over who had raked the bigger pile of leaves.

She had gotten up from the window to check on the laundry. She only had her eyes off them for a minute.

In hindsight she wishes she could have assigned them something else.

"The boys finally fell asleep."

She snaps back into reality from her train of thought and turns to find Wilt in the doorway of the infirmary. He looks exhausted; if she had a mirror Frankie might have discovered her fatigue matching his own. She catches a quick glance at the clock next to the door. It's 2:30 in the morning. It's strange how time flies during nights like this.

"Thank goodness," she sighs, releasing a tension she didn't even know she was holding, "So much for their weekend sleepover. Those two went through a lot today."

"So have all of us," Wilt reminds her. He saunters into the room and sits next to Frankie upon one of the extra beds. He sags his shoulders and sighs. "...I'm sorry."

"Don't blame yourself for this," Frankie exclaimed incredulously, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I am though!" Wilt implored, his one hand gripped so tightly the knuckles were turning white, "I was right there, sweeping the porch!"

She'd forgotten that was one of Wilt's chores today. Her bones ached with regret.

"I should have stopped them," Wilt continued, "It all happened so fast, and they just... Mac and Bloo shouldn't have seen that."

"It's still not your fault," Frankie argued, "There wasn't any way anyone could have known... what was in that garbage bag. Besides, I'm sure we can talk to the boys about it in the morning and make sure they're okay."

Wilt sighs. "You're right," he says. His good eye trailed towards the bed in front of them. "How is she?"

Frankie turns to face the figure laying in the bed in front of them. "Same as before, I suppose," she mutters, "But that really isn't saying much."

It was bizarre to think that wrapped in layers of gauze and bandages, underneath all the blood and hair and broken porcelain, was an Imaginary Friend.

It was hard to say if her condition would improve or worsen; all Wilt and Frankie could do was watch and wait and listen to the heart monitor that hung over the Imaginary Friend's bed give its frail, but steady beat.

Proof that the doll that lay before them was alive. Proof that she wasn't some object to be thrown away like garbage.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was going to be a long night.