Friday, April 11, 2008
Who: Fox When: Late evening Where: His room What: Fox reads a letter from home, and takes action
Fox had just managed to get Astrid to leave his room, although it was looking like she wasn't altogether thrilled with him, and he was none to thrilled with himself. He wanted her, right? She offered herself to him. Why the hell didn't he take her? Sighing, overly frustrated, he sat down at his desk, knowing the answer. She'd regret it in the morning. And she most definitely just wanted rebound sex. Now while he didn't mind being used to salve her ego, they had just come to terms all of last week. Fox was liking having friends, and he didn't want to ruin his friendship with the witch just yet.
Speaking of friends, he smiled, remembering that he needed to run into town the next day. Shopping for munchies, as he had promised Frankie. He was looking forward to spending Saturday night with the sprite. He hadn't seen her in awhile, and there was no better way to catch up than movies, Mario Kart, Oreos and weed. Well, the weed wasn't necessary, but it sure made things fun.
While sitting at the desk, his attention wandered to the plain white envelope that had arrived in the day's mail. He hadn't had the chance to look at it earlier, but now it was evening - the weekend even! - and he had nothing else to do. Picking up the letter, he glanced at the return address, Farmville, VA and from his father. The postmark stated it was mailed on Wednesday. Whatever it was couldn't have been that important. Rolling his eyes, Fox forced himself not to just shred the envelope, contents and all. Chase Wiley didn't give a damn about his son, and Fox sure as hell didn't give a flying fuck about the man who called himself his father. Still, he was curious as to what the old man wanted.
Flipping out his pocket knife, he slit open the envelope, pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper. Upon opening the letter, a news article slid to the floor, obviously recent with some parts highlighted. "Great, Chase. You get arrested or something?" Picking up the article, he set it on the desk, deciding to read it in a moment. Turning his eyes to the page in hand, he scanned the nearly illegible writing, his heart leaping into his throat as he reread the words:
Fox-
Bronsky's dead. Funeral's Saturday in Farmville. Thought you should know.
-Chase
"It can't be." Gripping the page in one hand, Fox willed the words to change, but the black ink against the white page stayed the same. Tossing the paper to the side, he picked up the news article, reading the first highlighted paragraph:
Local Officer Passed Away
After serving ten years as a Longwood Univerity Police officer and a previous twenty years as a Farmville City Officer, Captain Joe Oliver Bronsky died on Wednesday, April 9, 2008. After a prolonged battle with an advanced stage of prostate cancer, Bronsky passed away due to complications from chemotherapy. The funeral is set for Saturday, April 12, 2008. Bronsky is not survived by any relatives, but Professor Larissa Smith will be hosting a memorial service at Longwood University.
The article was from the Farmville Herald, the town's newspaper. And Joe Bronsky, a respected member of that town, the only respectable man Fox had known, had died. Cancer, and Joe didn't even tell him! Tossing the news article to the desk, Fox spun to face the center of the room, feeling the gaping hole in his chest. He had made plans to go down and see him next weekend. He was even going to get approval from Belle to make sure he could. This wasn't right. Bronsky couldn't be dead. And Fox was going to prove it.
Striding to his dresser, Fox pulled out the duffel that fit on his bike, throwing in shirts, socks and pants. Moving to the bathroom, he grabbed his toiletries, tossing those on top of his clothes. After jerking on a shirt, socks and his boots, he pulled his jacket off the back of his hanger and his helmet off the dresser. Shoving cellphone, wallet and keys into his pocket, Fox zipped up his bag, tossed his jacket over his shoulder and locked his room behind him.
"It can't be true," he muttered, marching through the halls and outside to the parking lot. On his way there, he felt a brief moment of guilt for standing up Frankie and Vinnie, but this needed to be done. Stowing the bag on the back of his bike, he slid on, kick starting the engine and gunning through the front gates. It was going to be a long drive, and an even longer night.