It was a bicycle any kid would die for. Shiny, cherry red, glistening chrome handlebars. It even had white racing stripes. The kind of bike any kid wants, needs. Every day, the kids who walked to school walked past the store to make sure that wonderful bike was still on display. It was a bike that would make its owner instantly a star.
Every town has that parent. The one who should never have had a child, yet somehow managed to find a mate anyway. Jared Krasin was such a parent. Scatterbrained and violent, he’d grown up the child of two rather respectable Protestants, but had fallen away in rebellion against them. Party after party, girlfriend after girlfriend and suddenly there was a baby to deal with.
Jared never really cared for his child, regardless of the fact that the boy was his own flesh and blood. No one knew what had happened to the girlfriend. She was there one day and gone the next. Rumours spread that Jared had murdered her, but one old couple occasionally got mail postmarked from a town two states over. They knew of the child, but had no interest in dealing with a man they had never approved of.
Jimmy, as the child was called by anyone who knew him, was a quiet little boy, one who flinched at loud noises and only spoke when he was addressed directly. The kind of child you forget after the initial introduction.
There was never any evidence that things weren't right in the Krasin home. Or very little, other than the absence of a mother for Jimmy.
The boy, as his father referred to him, was a good student. He was never late to school, never caused any trouble. His teacher, Miss Sanis, would look forward to seeing him every morning. They had a bit of a bond, a shared love of reading. She took Jimmy under her wing, became something of the mother he’d never had. But even though she pressed, he would never share what happened when he got home in the evening.
Like all the other children, Jimmy knew about the bike. He could hardly miss it, as it sat in the window of Denson’s General Store, on the way back to his house. Sometimes, Jimmy would stop and stare at the bike, dreaming of flying down hills and along roads in a blur of chrome and cherry-red.
Snow began to fall as Christmas drew nearer. Jimmy shivered a little in his thin coat, his hands and cheeks pink with cold when he entered the classroom. Miss Sanis gently asked if he needed anything, but the boy shook his head.
“Money’s tight,” he’d say, shifting his desk a little closer to the heater. “But we’ll get by.” Some of Jared’s pride proved to be genetic. If young Jimmy had a flaw, it was that he’d never ask for help.
Once, just once, Miss Sanis caught a hint that Jimmy was hiding something. She was supervising a pop quiz, and Jimmy was bent over his desk, working hard. His longish hair dangled over his paper, revealing a dark purple bruise at the base of his neck. It wasn’t something they spoke of. Even without asking, she knew what the boy’s reaction would be. He’d close himself off, hiding even from her. But she watched quietly for something she could act on, something he wouldn't be able to hide.
About a week before Christmas, Jimmy trudged home through the snow, his arms wrapped around his torso, trying to conserve at least a little heat. The bike was still in the window, that marvelous, wonderful bike. For a few freezing seconds, Jimmy stopped to stare at it. Apparently there were some left, despite the claims of his classmates. It seemed like every single one of them was absolutely positive they would get that bike for their Christmas gift.
As Jimmy stood there, a warm pinprick of hope sprang to life in his chest. He hadn’t asked his father if he could have a bike. He’d never asked for anything. Not once. Surely, just this year, he could have a bike. One present, one amazing present, and he would be satisfied.
A new spring in his step, Jimmy walked the rest of the way home. That small spark of hope warmed him so much he barely noticed the cold.
That same spark of hope also kept him from noticing the empty beer bottles on the porch, from seeing that his father was already on a second bottle of scotch. There was no way the boy could’ve been at fault for his father’s drinking, but, as always, he would bear the consequences.
Jared had spent most of the afternoon staring at a letter from his ex-wife’s lawyer. She was going to take him to court, to have Jimmy removed. It was the ultimate betrayal. She’d already taken his pride, his reputation and half his money. There was no way he would let her have his son.
Jimmy, of course, didn’t know this. He took a seat across from his father and made his request, voice trembling a little.
“What did you say, boy?” His father looked up, bloodshot eyes peering out from behind thick eyebrows.
“Please, sir,” Jimmy’s voice was stronger now, fueled by a strange mixture of fear and hope. “There’s a bike. In the window at Denson’s. I was wondering if it might be my Christmas present?”
Jimmy didn’t go to school the next day. Or the next. Or the next. Worried, Miss Sanis called his father, and was gruffly informed that his son had pneumonia, along with a request that he not be bothered again.
Two weeks later, the school contacted Social Services, as their policies mandated. The woman who was sent to check on Jimmy can only be described as ‘grandmotherly’. There was enough of her for a multitude of children to hug all at once, and her hair was a charming, dignified shade of grey. A small mole above her lip had two brown hairs growing from it.
When she emerged from the dirty, rundown little house, she was visibly a few years older. Once she judged herself to be a safe distance away, in her car with the doors locked, she made the call. “That child is abused,” she told her superiors. “He needs to be removed.”
“How do you know?” asked her superior, a young man without the experience or knowledge that the woman fifteen years his senior possessed.
“It’s textbook. All the signs are there. When you’ve worked as long as I have, you’ll be able to spot them a mile away.”
She drove away, worrying about the child that she’d just made her problem. His life was about to change forever. If she was wrong....
Due to a series of administrative errors, and the fact that Jared was known to be a violent man, it took four days to organize a team to take Jimmy from his father, by force if necessary. No one wanted to escalate, but every member of the team that was present was ready, just in case.
The social worker knocked on the door, glancing nervously at the two police officers flanking her.
“Waddya want?” Jared snarled, opening the door barely wide enough to see one beady eye.
“Mr. Krasin, we’re here for Jimmy.” The social worker was petrified of this man, but didn't show him her fear. The officers at her shoulder did wonders for her confidence.
“The hell you are,” Jared replied, moving to close the door.
One of the officers tried to stop him, but Jared was a big man. Alcohol and constant physical work made him stronger than he looked, and his nature made him mean. The door slammed shut, and they heard a series of locks clicking shut. There were at least four.
“Jared!” One officer began pounding on the door. “Jared, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way!”
There was no reply inside the house.
“Ma’am, you need to back away,” the second cop ordered, gesturing the social worker behind the protective line of officers.
Two shots rang out, from inside the house.
With cool professionalism, the smaller of the two officers smashed one of the dirty porch windows, glancing at his partner before slipping inside and unlocking the door.
Weapons drawn, they proceeded to search the house.
Upstairs, in a bedroom that overlooked a field, they found the bodies. Jared’s blood stained the wall, gun still clutches in his lifeless fingers. Jimmy lay curled in a pool of his own blood, more seeping from a wound the two officers couldn’t see.
“It’s clear,” one officer spoke into his radio, turning away from the grisly spectacle. “They’re both dead. Looks like the dirtbag shot the kid and then himself.”
His partner crouched next to Jimmy, feeling sick to his stomach. But, because he was closer, he spotted the slight rise and fall of the boy’s chest. “He’s still breathing. Dan, the kid’s still alive.”
Dan informed those outside of the discovery, then hurried to find something so that they could bandage the wound in the child’s chest.
The other man was left to comfort the dying boy, so he knelt in the puddle, ignoring the blood that now stained his uniform.
“Hey,” he whispered, gently grasping the child’s hand. “Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be okay, all right? We’re gonna get you out of here and somewhere safe.”
Jimmy coughed, his lips speckled with dark red blood. "I-I just wanted the bike," he choked out, voice rasping. "Wh-why?"
Like the child was made of porcelain, the officer pulled him close, cradling his head. "Stay with me, Jimmy. All right? My partner is bringing help."
It took five minutes for the paramedics to arrive. What was left of Jared was covered with a blanket, but no one dared to move Jimmy. Despite the makeshift bandages that were pressed to his wound, the bleeding didn't slow. Jimmy didn't speak again, just held eye contact with the officer holding him. His breath came slower and shallower, with heart-stopping waits between each shuddering gasp. But the boy clung to life.
"They found his mother," the social worker bullied her way through the small group of officers surrounding the boy. "She's being flown to the hospital. Paramedics are on their way." She took in the scene in a moment. Jimmy was pale, paler than the clouded sky outside.
"It's gonna be okay," the officer told the boy, his voice quiet and clear. "Your mom is waiting for you at the hospital. Just a little longer, all right? You can do it, Jimmy. Hold on. You'll be fine."
The last words Jimmy heard were a lie. Is it a lie if it's to comfort someone?
He was already gone when the paramedics arrived. Only the officer who cradled his head knew the exact moment, the second that the light left the boy. Tears streamed down his face as anger surged through him. Jared was lucky he’d taken the coward’s way out.
In the window of Densen's General Store, a cherry-red bike with sparkling chrome sat in the window. An ambulance raced past, splashing muddy snow onto the window. Obscuring the coveted object. It was a bicycle any kid would die for.
