Just Right

“You know, I put a lot of thought into this, young lady.” I stand beside the window, holding the curtains open an inch with one claw, peering out through the glass. “Every detail, carefully planned out.”

A muffled grunt is my answer, and I glance over my shoulder at the room’s only other occupant. She sits in a chair, tied hand and foot, securely gagged. Wide, frightened eyes stare at me through disheveled blonde hair hanging over her face. Tears wet her cheeks.

Lurid flashing lights bathe the room, the only source of light, strobing against the walls. I turn back to the window, to the sight of police cruisers parked helter-skelter across the lawn. Officers hunker down behind the vehicles; I can hear their chatter, discussing the situation, trying to decide what to do. How to save the hostage.

Hostage. It’s sad it’s come to this. But this isn’t the fairy tale it should be, and I’m not interested in giving them a happy ending.

“Take the ropes, for instance.” I amble over to the chair and give those ropes a gentle tug. “I couldn’t tie them too loosely. Couldn’t tie them too tight. No, these ropes are tied just right.” My snout wrinkles in a grin, showing off my impressive fangs.

The young woman whimpers in fear.

“Mr. Bear.” An amplified voice splits the air; I squint against the glaring lights, make out a figure holding a megaphone. “We know you’re in there. We know you have a hostage. I just want to talk to you, okay? Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

“It’s a real shame it’s come to this, Miss Goldilocks,” I say, peering out the window. “If you’d just come clean, told the truth from the beginning, none of this would’ve happened. A lot of bad things could have been avoided.”

Goldilocks squirms in her chair, struggling against the ropes. Maybe she’s feeling encouraged by the presence of the cops, the fact they’ve started to try to wear me down. Well, fat chance of that. If a guy can spend half a year living off his fat, he can outlast a bunch of cops.

“Come on, Mr. Bear,” the negotiator calls out. “We can work this out. Please, just let us know if the girl is okay.”

Of course, that’s all they care about. The hero of the story. Nobody cares about the secondary characters, the ones who really get hurt. The collateral damage.

“Ever since you broke into my house, trashed my furniture, ate my food, and then took a nap, cool as you please, things haven’t been right for me.” I leave the window, stalking over to loom above the figure bound to the chair. She shies back, trembling. “If that had been all, I could have left it alone. But then you pressed charges, said I’d kidnapped you. You lied, Goldi, and I took the fall for it.”

Her eyes dart from my face to the window, as if she thinks the cops will come busting in and save her from my just retribution. That’s not gonna happen.

“They convicted me, on nothing more than your testimony,” I say, growling out the words. “I spent five years in the slammer. Do you know how it is in there, especially for a guy like me? Let me tell you, bears don’t have an easy time in lockup. I’d have been better off turned into a rug.” I lean in closer, my breath stirring her hair. “So, we’re gonna set the record straight here, young lady. I’m gonna take that gag off you, and you’re gonna tell me, and the cops, the truth.”

I reach for her, and she leans away, shaking her head, eyes still wide and tearful. With a savage yank, I tear away the gag.

She gasps, works her jaw for a minute. “Please, Mr. Bear,” she says in a weak voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told the truth.”

“No you didn’t!” I bark. “You lied, Goldi, and I paid for it!” Oh, I’m angry enough right now to eat someone.

“Papa Bear.” The sound of that voice brings me up short. It’s been years since I last heard it. “Papa Bear, please, just talk to the police. Please don’t hurt anyone.”

It’s Mama Bear. I squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my paws into fists. She served me the papers while I was still behind bars, said she had to move on, had to look after Baby Bear.

I whirl back to the window. “Nice try, little pigs!” I bellow out into the night. “I don’t give a bowl of cold porridge what she says! I’m getting justice here tonight! Keep trying to interfere, and all you’ll get is a small corpse in a small coffin! You hear me?”

There’s more hushed talk, more gesturing, as if the cops are trying to figure out what to try next.

“Now, where were we?” I turn back to Goldilocks.

Only to find that she’s not tied to the chair anymore. Somehow, she hid a knife on her person; that’ll teach me to go easy when searching someone. Now the ropes lie in a heap at her feet.

She leaps out of the chair, heading for the door. I bound past her, claws digging into the floorboards, cutting off her retreat. Too late, I realize it was a feint, as she dives to the floor beside the bed… and comes back up with a twelve-gauge shotgun in her hands.

I throw myself to the side as the gun goes off with a boom, blowing a foot-wide hole in the wall where I was standing. Not good; Goldi has solid rounds in the chamber. Clearly, she’s loaded for bear.

“What’s the matter, Papa Bear?” All trace of fear and tears is gone from her voice; now she’s the stone-cold criminal I always knew her to be. “Is my gun too big? Too small? No, I think it’s just right.”

I hear her work the pump, and roll away from where I’m lying. Another shot blasts a fresh hole in the floor. That’s a big gun. Definitely too big.

“Bet you wish you could run away into the woods now, eh?” she calls out, tauntingly.

Well, I kinda do. I leap back to my feet and throw myself at the door. It flies apart under my weight, sending chunks of wood flying. I see the top of the stairs, and start for it.

Yet another shot thunders, and a chunk of railing vaporizes. “Where do you think you’re going?” Goldi shouts, her voice faint in my ringing ears. “I’m gonna have you stuffed and mounted, Papa Bear.”

My claws scrabble on the floor as I hurl myself down the stairs. This got out of hand real fast.

“When I paid you a little visit all those years ago, I wanted to be reasonable.” I hear her footsteps as she follows me, and the sound of her shoving more rounds into her gun. “You could have done what I wanted, cut me into your little mushroom operation. But, no, you had to be stubborn. So, yeah, I cooked up a little story, and the cops bought it. I mean, who were they going to believe: a sweet little girl, or a big scary bear? When I sent you up the river, I thought you’d be smart enough to not come back. But here you are, looking for trouble. Well, now I’m gonna do it right. A week from now, your head will be on my wall, and everyone will think it was justified.” A blast from the shotgun emphasizes her point.

I hit the bottom of the staircase just ahead of the shot, feeling splinters peppering me. My feet go out from under me, and I land hard.

“Nowhere left to run, Papa Bear.”

I roll over, to find Goldilocks standing over me. The barrel of her gun is large in my face. Too large.

Her finger tightens on the trigger.

The front door bangs open, at the same time as the windows explode inward. Suddenly, cops are everywhere, shouting for her to put down the gun, to get on the ground.

Goldilocks stands there, shocked, for just an instant. Then the gun drops from her fingers, and she sags in relief.

“Oh, thank goodness, officers!” she cries. “I was so scared! I barely got the gun away from him!”

Before she can utter another lie, the cops tackle her to the floor, pin her arms behind her back, and slap the cuffs on her.

“You’re under arrest,” says the officer in charge, still holding his megaphone. “We’ve been trying to take down your operation for years, missy.” He nods at me. “Even had to call in some help to put this sting together. Now you’re going away for a long, long time. But don’t worry, I hear the beds in prison aren’t too soft. Get her out of here.”

I watch as the cops drag Goldilocks away. They weren’t a second too soon, or a second too late. And as her stunned gaze meets mine, I smile. Reaching down, I dig a claw into my thick fur, pull out the wire I’ve been wearing all night. The stunned expression melts as understanding takes hold, and her scowl is fierce enough to boil porridge.

Justice feels good. Not too hard. Not too soft.

Just right.