Frank Miller Meets a Monster

Trigger Alert: This story involves a brief (but not detailed) reference to a domestic abuse case. One character imagines someone being killed. A character is shot.

Frank Miller’s life was mapped out to perfection. Every Monday through Friday, he promptly would rise at 5am to shower and make decaf coffee, go for a quick jog, and later assist his wife with waking and helping their sleepy children for school. It was always a two hour process as six year old Brielle hated eating breakfast and four year old Gracie refused to put shoes on.

Then, after his wife had left to commute to her work as an English professor, Frank and his children would abandon their city flat. They would leave plates of uneaten toast over the kitchen island and pairs of shoes flung about the living room in protest to join the formation of cars in the drop off line for school about twenty minutes away.

He would blow them kisses from the driver’s seat as he watched his two girls in their navy uniforms and braided hair bounce out of their mini van and into the moving sea of students where they would disappear until later at 3. From there, home cooked dinner was served at 6, followed by family time and long baths involving one child that refused to get in the tub and the other who would fight to get out. Then, with the girls tucked snuggly in their little beds, Frank and his wife always spent the remainder of the evening reading and talking together under the light of a few warm-lighted lamps.

In between all that time, Frank’s day mostly consisted of doing laundry, errands and preparing dinner - all daily tasks which he had derived a deep sense of satisfaction from completing. For, the forty-five old certainly thrived on order and routine. Best of all, it allowed him the space and time to breathe some life into his writing while alone in their flat, including his most commissioned children’s book.

Even when he was summoned to his first jury duty three months ago, this system that he and his wife had created had proved to withstand his abrupt departure. His wife’s parents, hailing from a smaller town, moved in for those weeks and without complaint, they followed all their instructions. By the end of their time there, they were thoroughly impressed and convinced that their daughter’s home was a very successful and thriving one, despite the busyness of living in the city. Frank agreed.

That particular Tuesday, brown haired Frank was waiting in their mini van as the clock turned 2:55pm. While he endeavored to keep his mind present to the podcast playing on his phone, he felt his thoughts returning over and over back to his recent experience as a juror. He could not talk about the domestic assault case with anyone, so the trial continued to take up room in his head. Likewise, it had also led to several sleepless nights.

He just wished there was a way to process it as he had never experienced a real life monster before, quite like the very wealthy and good looking Eddie Stevens. Unfortunately, despite all the evidence, the jury was deadlocked on the fact of no prior incidents and the judge declared a mistrial. Eddie, a confident and cocky man, had smirked at his wife from across the room. That was something Frank knew he would never forget.

Frank shook his head to rattle the images and thoughts around. His podcast was over and it was now 3:00pm. The school bell had rung. Both eager and tired students greeted the line of waiting vehicles. He smiled as Brielle and Gracie approached the vehicle who also looked tired and eager.

“How was your day, girls?" Franks cheerfully asked, while he helped them buckle themselves in.

“Goood.” They both replied in return.

“Good!” mimicked Frank. He started the car and began to move into traffic back home.

“Daddy? Can we stop by the corner store?” Brielle suddenly blurted out.

“Corner store? Why, honey?”

“Because we have a project tomorrow and I’m supposed to bring some EXTRA treats.”

“Really, you don’t think we have some EXTRA treats at home, Brielle?”

“No Daddy. We really need to get the kind we can only find at the corner store. It will be more special.”

“Okay, lucky for you, we have some time! Gracie, please keep your shoes on, “ answered Frank.

They drove to the fondly termed corner store, which was a quaint market around the corner from their home. Within those old brick walls and large store front windows, there was a front countertop dedicated to jars and bins of special candies. The girls particularly like the individually wrapped taffy in their various colors and flavors like “watermelon blue” and “flaming mad cinnamon.”

“Let’s get a lot!” Brielle giggled as they entered the store.

The sisters settled in front of the glass display to examine the many choices. Frank joined them to patiently wait for their orders and to greet the owner.

“Hi there, Mr. Joe.”

Mr Joe, was a shorter gentleman with white hair and wore a bow tie and an apron. He had owned the shop since his father had passed away who had inherited it from his father. That was a fact he enjoyed reminding all of his customers.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Miller. I see your girls are happy to get some treats today. The taffy in particular has been a long family tradition here.”

Frank smiled, “Yes, it is in high demand and sure it always has been.”

The bell at the front door jingled.

At first, Frank observed the stranger in a suit as a random customer, potentially another neighbor. But as the man passed him by, Frank caught his eye and he immediately recognized the large frame, the square jaw and slicked back hair belonging to one Eddie Stevens. Frank instinctively looked down, while his chest started to pound, with the pulsing of his heartbeat filling his ears. For one moment, he stopped hearing all together his girls and Mr. Joe, big band music in the background and the cars driving by outside the windows.

“That’ll be twenty five dollars and twenty cents,” he finally heard Mr. Joe say.

Frank tried to keep his gaze facing forward as he shifted through his wallet to pay. Still, he sensed Eddie’s presence as the man grabbed a bag of chips and energy drink and approached them.

“Say thank you to Mr. Joe.”

“Thank you!” The girls exclaimed, gathering their overflowing bags of taffy and other candies to carry to their minivan. Frank positioned himself behind them to block them from further view and hurry them out.

As they left, Eddie Stevens remarked to Mr. Joe in his low voice and a smirk on his face, “Those are some cute little angels. Reminds me of my own.”

Frank would not be able to tell you where the time had gone, where those hours and minutes went after his brief encounter with Eddie Stevens. He vaguely recalled sitting with the girls for a long time in the mini van, while they ate some of the candy and watched a children’s show on the phone. He remembered watching Eddie leave the store and walk a block away to another flat with a red door, where his wife opened the door to greet him. Eddie’s heart sank to see her.

Now, the floodgates seemed to open from the night sky and a heavy rain beat down upon his vehicle’s windshield. They had returned home to complete their day, from eating a homemade meal of overcooked mac ‘n cheese with cauliflower sauce and burnt veggie stuffed chicken nuggets to an overflowing toliet and the girls fighting over goodnight stories. Nonetheless, at sometime around 8:00pm, Frank realized they were out of his headache medicine and would need to take a trip to the nearest pharmacy. The corner store had long been closed.

However, he never made it to the pharmacy. Instead, he found himself parked across the street from a certain flat with a red door. At first, he did not know why he was really there. Perhaps, curiosity had driven him. From the moment he saw him at the corner store, he wanted to know if Eddie was new to the neighborhood or simply visiting. He imagined Eddie must have recognized him enough as his sweater and skinny jeans were the only difference between his trial attire consisting of a suit and a tie. The thought terrified him.

Soon, it began to rain. Frank could barely see out the window as the rain and darkness blurred his view. Never a violent man, he was surprised that the longer he sat there, he more he thought about all the ways Eddie could disappear if the law would not serve justice. The idea that this horrible man might be a usual at the corner store for him to see and interact with every day. Worst, what this man talked with his own wife or children.

Suddenly, a covered figure emerged out of the rain and marched up the steps to the red door. Even from his vehicle, Frank could hear the person’s fists banging on the door. Immediately, as Eddie answered, a gun shot rang out. Then, the person sprinted away, leaving Eddie slumped over on the top stair. Blood immediately began to flow from his chest and down the stairs to mix with the water.

Frank froze. He could not comprehend the horror and the reality of what he had just witnessed. There was Eddie Stevens bleeding out. He was holding his wound and trying to call for help. Soon five seconds passed, then another five. Eddie grew more still. More seconds passed.

Finally, Eddie’s wife Myra appeared through the open red door.

Frank knew what he had to do.

_________________________________________

“Dearest, what’s on your mind tonight? Is it your headache?”

Frank was lying in his robe and very still on the bed. His books were left neglected on the book stand beside him, along with a bottle of headache medicine.

He took a deep breath before glancing at his wife. She was next to him with her reading glasses on and her favorite plaid pajames. A hot tea simmered on the side table next to her waiting to be drunk. She had been reading a classic, Russian novel by Pavlova.

Currently, she was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern as Frank rarely wasted time doing anything. At least, that is what she had experienced with ten years of marriage to him. Since jury duty, however, her husband was beginning to show serious signs of trauma from the trial.

“Not much. Just thinking about tomorrow’s dinner and the shopping list.”

“Anything we can talk about? You seem off …”

Frank took note of how much he liked her auburn curls that escaped from her bedtime bun and how pretty her freckles on her face were to him. He made an empathetic smile, pushing his bottom lip over his chin, “I just really love you, Myra. Thankful for you and the kids. Should we turn off the lights soon, it’s 10:01pm?”