The End

A Month or So Later...

With loud banging of the hammer, the For Sale sign went deeper and deeper into the ground. The three storey house stood clean with orderly rose and hedges behind it.

Mrs. Sputterspark climbed out of her old XB V8 Falcon. "Drake! For heavens sake! What are you doing?" She shut the car door in a hurry behind her.
"Hi, Mrs. S." Drake continued to hammer the For Sale sign into the ground near the letterbox labelled 'Mallard'.

"You haven't even graduated yet, what are you doing selling the house from underneath you?"
"Well, I want everything sorted out before I leave in July."
"Drake ... where are you going?" Mrs. Sputterspark asked.
"Tibet." He paused, "for a start."
"You've decided to travel the world?"
"Something like that."
"I thought you applied for the police academy?"
He snorted.
"You didn't get in? You might be able to try again."
"No. Forget them. I want to solve crime, not push paper, anyway." He looked up at her. "I'm sorry, where's my manners? Won't you come inside for a cup of coffee?"

He led her through the entrance to the kitchen.
Mrs. S looked around the hall, "Drake, where is ... what have you done with all your grandmother's paintings?"
"I've already sold them, I can't justify keeping them."
"But your parents' house?"
"Mrs. S, I'm plain sick of dusting! This place is too big, I'd be just as happy in a tent."
"You are your father's son." She chuckled, ruffling his feathers.

The kettle boiled and he made a pot of tea. "What about your father's books?"
"They're my books now."
"Yes, but are you going to keep them?"
"I ... I want to keep them." He hesitated. "There are a great number of them, though."
"Well, after you've sold the house there should be money enough to rent storage for a couple of years."
He looked at the pot. "Yes, I suppose."
"I'm glad you'll hold onto something. Why, even the teapot may have to go. I think in Tibet they have their own teapots," she teased lightly.
He grinned. "I'm sure if I can find somewhere to store all' dad's books, I can put an extra box in for a dinner set." He handed her a cup. "I haven't seen Elmo since school went out last semester. Is he alright?"

She sighed, frowning. "Neither have I."

Afternoon...

"Come on, Elmo, you've barely eaten anything." Mrs Sputterspark pleaded with her son at the table.
"I hate these gloves!" He cursed again, struggling to grip the fork properly. "It's not that I'm not hungry, ma. I ..."
She stood up, fixing on him. "Elmo, every time you siphon off electricity from the mains, it charges your electrons up again."
"You're stating the obvious, ma."
"Then stop doing it!"
The fork jumped out of his fingers onto the floor. "Stupid gloves!" He cursed angrily. "Stupid fork!" He bent over, but the static discharge escaped from his glove and disintegrated the fork, leaving nothing to pick up.

"I'm sorry I made you angry."
He looked up. "I'm not angry at you, ma."
Tears were in her eyes. "My poor baby boy," she reached forwards.
"Careful, ma."
"I know." She took careful hold of his shoulder, the protective rubber suit between her and electrocution … between her and her son.
"I can't believe they can just get away with this, those awful children," she sobbed. "Why is life so cruel? It's one question science can't find the answer to."

"I'm not going to let them get away with this." His mind fell back to Preena, and that stupid Ham.
"Ouch!" His mother snatched her hand away. "Elmo, you're overcharging."
"W-what, but I ..." He stumbled away from the table, turning around. He was, he was sparking, energy built up excessively again.
"Oh, oh dear," she looked around. "Car battery! Come on!" She ran out of the house, leaving the door open for him to follow her.

Sylvia flicked on the light and ferreted through the mass of bits in the old double garage. "Here's the old battery." She yanked it out of the jumble. "Catch!" She threw it at him, and he caught it.
He discharged into it. Then he sighed in relief.
"We'll need to get you a better battery."
"Ma, batteries don't work once they're overloaded."
"Exactly," she passed by him.

He looked up at the light as she began writing on the ancient chalkboard.

"The incandescent bulb," he murmured. It had exploded, short-circuiting the treadmill. It had saved his life by sacrificing itself.
"Hello?"
The light above glimmered brightly at him.
"Elmo, are you alright?"
"I ... ma, the light bulb is talking to me."
She looked up and shielded her eyes from the reflexive mistake. "Elmo, it's just electricity."
"I'm made of electricity now."
"It's only like blood. Your systems are powered by it."
"Like the light bulb is," he shook his head. "I've been hearing whispering in my head, now I understand what it is."
"You can hear them ...?"
"Do you believe me, Ma, or do you think I'm crazy?"
"Yes, Elmo. I believe you. And I do think you have gone crazy." She smiled sadly at him.

"I can't even hug you properly, ma. I won't ever ... never again." He sobbed. "My life is over."
"Stop saying that!" She sobbed back. "You can still do plenty of things with your life. You can still join NASA, you can still ..."
"That requires finishing school, ma, I can't even open a book without it trying to kill me."
"If you calmed down, you would be able to."
"I'm not calming down!"
"Elmo! Being upset won't solve your problem!"
"Ma," he sighed. "... I'm going to bed." He went back around and into the house.

Sylvia sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. She looked at the board again. "Not a conventional battery." She continued chalking up calculations. "Hmm, repeatable mechanical deformation! Of course, it's so simple. I can render the spring action in a battery type cylinder like a backpack. That way he can discharge into it, or reuse the energy as he needs it."

On Sunset...

Drake rode his skateboard down the quiet Saturday roads.

Storage. That wasn't logical, he couldn't justify spending so much money on a sentimental whim. He swung the skateboard to a stop, tipping the end up. Audubon Bay Bridge, he looked up at the towers. "Those things are massive," he had a thought. "That's a little too big to be solid." Deciding to investigate, he hooked the skateboard onto his bag via the wheels and a strap. He looked down over the side. "Circling sharks, right, well, right! A thing like that's not going to stop this M-Mallard." He closed his eyes, facing his fears.

"This was how my father died." He reminded himself of his father's impulse, aware that he had exactly the same impulse, aware of exactly what he was doing as he looked around for a way up the tower. "Doing something dangerous, no," he corrected himself. "In the process of doing something dangerous: something else that he wasn't ready for killed him." He checked his situation for something ... other than just the sharks that might harm him.

Drake considered the suspension cables attached to the arching metal. He smiled with the answer. There was a way into the tower. "But ..." he walked to the lowest part of the supporting arch, "I am aware that it's dangerous. Every time I say the word, I remind myself. To make sure I know when I am in a dangerous situation and need to check out more angles." Climbing up on top of the railing, looking up to the tower where the arch finally met up with it, he was keen and alert. "So, let's get dangerous, Drakey." He carefully made his way up the arch.

Drake grabbed his flashlight from his bag and dropped the bag onto the floor. He swung the light beam around.
"Oh, yes!" Then he coughed as the dust brought up from dropping his bag rose up to choke him. "A little dusty though." His eyes watered. "No matter!" The excitement was overwhelming. "What a fantastic place!" He grinned. "Happy Christmas, Drakey," he left his bag there and wandered around, slowly casting the flashlight about. "Huh, it's bigger on the inside, that's for sure." He looked deeper into the darkness, "Power cabling, yes of course, for the bridge lights!"

It was thrilling, "I won't even need a house when I get back! I can just move right into here. No one will even know." He climbed up the wall to look out through the windows.
St Canard, glowing city lights, he hadn't gotten that sort of view from his home. "I need an easier way into this place if I'm going to start hauling dad's books." He dropped down from the window and turned the flashlight on again. "There's gotta be another way in."

He explored deeper into the tower. "My books, they're my books," he sighed. "Hopefully by moving them in here, I might be able to call them mine a bit easier..."

The End