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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
WHY ARE YOU CHASING ME?
small, curious crowd gathered around Peter. As he sat up to regain his bearings, he could see the two men who were after him trying to push their way through the gathering. He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could then broke through the crowd and headed down another nearby alleyway. Mulligan and Malone, in a mad dash to catch him, knocked over several vending carts, sending the vendors into a most descriptive language.
Peter, running down the alley as fast as he could go, hurdled barrels that had sloppily rolled out in the middle of the way. He made several quick turns here and there to elude them. Suddenly, to Peter’s dismay, he found himself in a dead end with no other way out! As he turned to retrace his steps, he saw the two men lungingly approaching from the other end. Seeing Peter was trapped, they stopped running and cynically smiled at each other. They slowly inched their way down the alley as he backed up getting into a tighter and tighter spot.
“Why are you chasing me?!” he questioned between huffs. “Just who are you anyway?!”
Ignoring his questions, Mulligan and Malone furtively approached closer to him. Peter eyed them carefully and tried to figure if he could outwit these two dumb-looking, depraved individuals with a quick dash past them, but somehow he knew this wouldn’t work.
His head twirled in a desperate search looking all around. A fire escape ladder to his right was too high for him to reach, but the crate under it appeared strong enough . . .’perhaps strong enough to catapult myself up to reach the ladder,’he thought. So, in a fast, chancing sprint, he jumped on the box and sprung himself up high, catching hold of the last rung on the ladder.
It slid down allowing him to climb it. Mulligan, seeing this, bolted after him, while Malone went around to the front of the building. Peter frantically ascended the fire escape stairs leading to the roof. Barely a few steps behind, Mulligan occasionally swiped at Peter’s shoes attempting to grab him. This sent Peter up the stairs in a swift soar, leaving Mulligan behind in a swirl of breathlessness.
Peter was out of breath himself when he finally reached the top. He looked down at Mulligan who was lying on the iron steps gasping for air. Suddenly Mulligan got up and resumed his pursuit which sent Peter fleeting across the roof to the doorway that led from the roof into the building. He grabbed the handle and opened it just as Mulligan peeked his head over the lip of the roof.
In the meantime, Malone was on his way up the front stairs. Mulligan, now on the roof, descended through the doorway too. Peter, who was halfway down the third flight of stairs, looked up when he heard Mulligan coming down, then gaped down to see Malone coming up the second flight after him. Feeling the squeeze, he spun around in the hallway and desperately surveyed the area for an escape route.
With a thunderous pound, he jolted several doors nearly from their hinges. As the two brutes were quickly converging on him, a rounded lady with a ladle in her hand and a colorful apron tied around her waist opened one of the doors. But before the lady could say anything, Peter ran into her apartment, passing her family, who was sitting at the table eating. “Pardon me,” he apologized as he ran through the dining room and into one of the bedrooms to the fire escape.
Mulligan and Malone were leaning on the stair rails trying to retrieve their wind. Suddenly they rushed rudely toward the woman’s apartment, pushed their way past her and ran stumblingly through the inner rooms. As Peter was crawling out the window which led to the fire escape, Mulligan had reached the bedroom. Peter slammed the window down as he crawled out and started down the fire escape.
Mulligan lifted the window and stuck his head outside. “He’s headed back down!”he screamed, and he and Malone scrambled to leave the apartment, tripping over each other in the process. Peter, seeing that they saw the direction in which he was headed, decided to go back up in hopes to outfox them. But just as he reached the roof, Mulligan poked his head out the window again. “I thought so,” he declared.
Many other apartment residents were sticking their heads out of their windows to see what the noise was all about. Voices could be heard coming from the left and right of Peter as well as from below him.
“AAAY . . .What’s goin’ on out there?!” someone shouted. The members of the family on which they intruded were already shouting at the tops of their lungs.
Mulligan yelled down the front stairs to Malone, “HE’S BACK ON THE ROOF! I’LL GO BACK UP THE ESCAPE! YOU GO BACK UP THE STAIRS! WE’LL TRAP HIM BETWEEN US!” Mulligan pushed his way through the apartment once again and went out the window to the fire escape as the family was yelling and screaming vulgarities at him.
Peter crossed the roof to the doorway and opened it. He could hear footsteps clumping up the flights with the surge of heavy puffs. He ran back to the fire escape and peered over the roof only to see Mulligan coming up.
He quickly surveyed the distance between roof tops to see if he could jump it. His heart was pounding fast and his head was throbbing hard as his breath raced at a rapid pace. His head pivoted with quickness as both of the men reached the roof. Perspiring and shaking, his legs nearly giving out from beneath him, he began to run in a derring-do so he could leap to the other building top. But his capture was ineludible. He couldn’t avoid the reach of Mulligan who stretched out his muscular arm and roughly grabbed a hold of him and wrestled him down onto the pebble-covered roof.
Peter, too exhausted to fight them off any longer, just lay there. Malone, who was looming over the two of them lying there, bent over and seized Peter by the collar and pulled him to his feet. “You’re a hard kid to save, you know that?!” he huffed out.
“What are you talking about?” Peter asked in between breaths. “Who are you anyway?”
“I’m -” puff, puff, “- Detective Malone from Chicago and this -” huff, huff, “- is my partner, Detective Mulligan.”
“Detectives?! From Chicago? Why are you chasing me?”
“Well, we weren’t really after you Kid. We were after the governess who kidnapped you. But since the Boston police have her, and you’re now safe with us!”
“What? She didn’t kidnap me. She’s my governess and she doesn’t belong in jail!!” They looked like they couldn’t care less. So, Peter insisted, “I want to see my governess!
“Sorry Kid,” Malone replied, “we got a schedule to keep -” huff, huff “- and this little side trip cost us a lot of time.”
The apartment block was like a busy ant hill with people crawling every which way. People were staring form every doorway, and once the three of them got outside, they continued to encounter people staring from every window and street corner.
Peter didn’t care to do things their way. “I want to go to my grandparents’ house!” he demanded as they escorted him down the street.
Mulligan gave a side-long glance. “And play right into the hands of the conspirators, eh? I know it must come as a shock to you kid, but they’re not interested in you; it’s your inheritance they want. As soon as they get you in their hands, it’s certain wealth for them!”
“WHAT!?” Peter exclaimed with aggravation and disbelief. “You’re crazy! Look, I don’t need your help. I can handle this myself, so why don’t you just let me go?”
With a shake of their heads, Peter bargained, “Ok, or just take me there? I’ll show you!” And he tried to pull himself free of them, but the two men held him tighter. They dragged him from the roof and down the stairs cuffing him a few times as he struggled to get free.
“Make way,” Mulligan ordered as they pushed through the crowd. “Police business!”
After they left the building, they walked down the sidewalk for some blocks while they looked to summon one of the carriages that were passing by. Peter could not believe what was happening to him. His eyes shifted all about looking for someone to help him.
he sounds of the city seemed to fade out. Even the vendors who were calling out to prospective buyers and haggling over prices, seemed to be far in the background. Children playing their games on the sidewalks, streets and alleyways, looked at them as they passed. The chatter of women as they congregated in groups in front of the shops added to his disorientation. From time to time the loud sounds of horns on horseless carriages ripped through the air.
The clopping sounds of horses’ hooves on the city streets seemed to echo off the buildings; and the paperboy on the corner just ahead of them was calling out for the hundreds of passers-by to purchase the newly pressed Evening Post.
“Why don’t you wake up Kid?” Malone berated, bringing Peter’s awareness back to the situation he was in. “Your pockets are being picked, and you want us to help the thief by bringing you to him?” Mulligan laughed at Peter to make him feel foolish, but Peter kept silent.
Suddenly, Peter tried to make an unsuspected break for it, but the rough-and-tough Malone who was faster than he was, grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket and clouted him. Peter thought about disabling the two detectives by self-defense tactics, but the guns they wore made him cautious. Instead, he decided to yell for attention: “HELP! HELP!” But Malone slapped his hand over Peter’s mouth.
Resorting to mordacity, Peter bit his finger, sending him into a colorful song, and dance. “HELP! HELP! I’M BEING KIDNAPPED!” Peter yelled, drawing the attention of many people who were passing by, but even though they watched on, no one came forward to offer any help.
Just then a carriage pulled up. The driver, who was puzzled by the yelling, asked, “What’s going on here? Is everything all right?”
Malone responded, “He’s all right. He’s my son, and he doesn’t take to discipline all that well.”
“I am not your son you moron!” Peter snapped with retaliating anger. “I am not his son!” he declared with a plea as he turned to the driver. I am being kidnapped by these two oafs.”
“Tale-teller,” Malone explained as he fixed his eyes on the driver. “His mother puts these things into his head.”
The driver sized them all up and notices how they were all well dressed. “Oh, I see,” the coachman observed, shaking his head in sympathetic despair. “What he really needs is a good walloping huh? Can’t be thankful for the good life you provide.”
“Yeah,” Malone agreed. Peter hauled off with a swift punch to Malone’s midriff. “UGGGGG!” Malone moaned as he doubled over.
As fast as Peter delivered a blow to Malone, Mulligan swatted Peter on the neck which dazed him some. “This has been coming for a long time,” Mulligan told the driver.
The driver switched his attention onto Mulligan. “I’m the kid’s uncle,” Mulligan explained,and he shoved Peter carelessly into the carriage climbing in right behind him.
“Say,” the driver uttered with wonder in his voice, “are you from around here?”
“Nope, uptown. My son gave us quite a chase . . .anything to avoid what’s coming to him. Sit there!” he commanded Peter, as the driver sat patiently waiting, and watching with a – ‘do I know that feeling’ – look on his face as he witnessed what he thought was a spoiled temper tantrum being thrown.
Peter was undeterred. He kept screaming at the top of his lungs. As the carriage moved down the street, he hollered, “HELP! HELP! I’M BEING KIDNAPPED! HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!”How much more can one raise their voice?
Both men tried to silence him as they caught sight of a happy-go-lucky policeman named Clancy who was merrily strolling down the street swinging his Billy Club in a playful whirl.
As the carriage approached, Peter was still screaming as loudly as he could. Clancy, hearing the wail, quickly blew his whistle with a high-pitched screech to stop the carriage. “What’s going on here O’Donnell?” Clancy asked with beaming eyes alert for trouble.
“I’m being kidnapped!”Peter implored with all the desperation he could muster. “This man says he’s my father but he’s not! I ask you Officer to take a good at him. Do I look like the son of a baboon?!” and he kicked Malone in the shin.
“OWWWWW!” Malone howled as he grabbed his leg. “You little brat!” he hurled with muffled expression.
O’Donnell, the carriage driver, interceded on Malone’s behalf. “He’s the man’s kid Clancy. The boy’s a storyteller and throws fits real good.” O’Donnell smiled assuring Clancy everything was really all right.
“Oh,” Clancy remarked, giving Peter a stern look of disapproval. “An unruly one, huh?”
Peter, who was trying to demonstrate he was really being abducted, looked like the one who was doing wrong. Do you always believe what people like this say without proof?”
Malone, rubbing his leg, explained to Clancy, “We’re on our way home right now – and when we get there, a good, hard licking will take this right out of him, in spite of what his mother says.”
“Good for you, Sir,” Clancy commented. Clancy then tapped the side of the carriage with his truncheon stick a couple of times to let O’Donnell know he could move on, then he continued on his rounds with a joyful whistle, feeling glad he was able to be of some assistance.
As the carriage rolled down the street, Peter reached the maximum volume his voice could yell. “NO! NO! I AM NOT HIS SON! I SWEAR I’M NOT HIS SON!! MY FATHER IS MICHAEL SMITH of CHICAGO.”
“Oh right, right,” Clancy said as he gleamed a look at Malone. “The son of the famous shipping tycoon, lost at sea on one of his own ships?” ‘Boy, has he got his hands full,’ he thought.
Peter didn’t like Clancy’s sarcastic tone. He screamed at the gibbon-like Malone, “You stinking toad stool! Let me out of this carriage!” and he pulled himself forward to jump out, only to be pushed back down again with a powerful thrust.
In a fury of movements Peter squirmed, and kicked to get free, but the apish Malone contained him, this time snidely threatening: “Just wait until we get home!”
Peter hurled sarcastically, “I don’t live in the jungle you freakish APE!”
As the carriage rolled down the street, it bounded, and tilted to and fro as Peter struggled inside kicking, and throwing punches. But the two detectives were simply too large and overpowering.
At the main intersection, Malone asked O’Donnell to kindly stop the carriage. O’Donnell obliged, pulling the horses to a gentle stop so they could disembark. Peter refused to step down so Malone pulled him from the carriage with a ruthless yank.
As he stood there, restrained, he rubbed his arms and neck from all the abuses he was taking. Mulligan explained to the driver that they had to meet someone and heartily gave him a handsome tip.
O’Donnell smiled at the generous sum. “Thank you, Sirs,”he replied,”and have a very, very pleasant day – if you can!” He gave Peter a look of displeasure and turned his carriage around and headed back down the congested street.
Malone was a bully of a man. He had a rough-edged disposition, and a mean looking face to go with it. It looked like it was chiseled out of hard granite; one that the sculptor did not perfect or polish. He glared down at Peter. His falcon-like eyes peering over his hatchet-shaped nose, gave Peter a sense of dread.
Malone clenched his jaw and through gritted teeth threatened him:”You can do this the hard way, or you can do this the easy way.” Malone stood up tall from the semi-bent position he took to threaten Peter, drew in a deep breath and sighed to calm himself, then resumed his terrific stare. “The choice is yours.”
That stare Malone gave Peter, and the tone he used, and the manner in which he spoke his words, told Peter he really meant business. But Peter meant business too.
Malone, and Mulligan forced him to walk down the street, Malone on one side, Mulligan on the other, each grasping his arms in their locked grip. Peter, enraged at being handled this way, forgot the immediate danger of their threat. Giving no heed to their warnings of retaliation he yelled at the top of his lungs again which startled some of the passers-by, “YOU’RE NOT DETECTIVES! YOU’RE TOO UGLY TO BE REAL DETECTIVES!”
Feeling the stares from hundreds of pedestrians, Mulligan hissed as he gave Peter’s arm an awful squeeze. “Shut up Kid!”Peter was not in any mood to abide the commands of his victimizers.
“You overgrown BABOONS! I’m not going anywhere with you two!” and he proceeded to screech, “HELP! I’M BEING KIDNAPPED!”
Malone slapped his big, broad hand over Peter’s mouth. His outburst brought the two detectives to a stop. They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk as the people walked around them.
Malone let his grip go and reached into his back pocket for his wallet as Mulligan held Peter secure. Malone then opened his wallet, and flashed his badge and identification in front of Peter’s face. “Satisfied?!” Malone grunted out. “You see Kid,” he rasped as he folded his wallet and placed it back into his pocket, “it’s less complicated this way. The object is to avoid getting caught up in all the bureaucratic red tape,” and he grabbed Peter’s arm and squeezed it hard. “Now keep your mouth shut,” he warned, “and do as we tell you, or I’m not gonna be so nice next time.”
oinciding with this incident, Allison was being roughed from the Black Maria – the single-celled, dungeon-like paddy wagon into which she was forcibly put. She was impolitely escorted into the station for questioning and rudely pushed into an interrogation room where she was then coldly interviewed by a crude-mannered sergeant and guarded over by an andromorphous, hairy-armed lady police officer who bore an unfriendly expression.
The sergeant hostilely slapped a folder down on the table then flipped it open. “It says here, Miss Hamilton,” he began as he gave her a belligerent glare, “that you were last employed by a Mrs. Michael Smith of Chicago, Illinois to act in the capacity of governess to her son, Michael Peter Smith.”
“Yes, and tutor also.”
He glanced at her suspiciously then peered down at the paper again. “The report makes no mention of your tutoring the boy. Anyway,” he continued, “this report also indicates that your employers, Michael and Margaret Smith were lost at sea recently. Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“And…because of this incident and…court decisions, you were informed by the new executor of the Smith estate and guardian of the boy, that your services were no longer required. Is this true?”
“That is true.”
“Can you explain, Miss Hamilton, why it is you left Chicago with the boy when you were given directions by a court that the boy had a new guardian, and he was to stay in Chicago?”
“The court informed me of no change. I was not officially notified by any court representative. What I was shown, was a set of papers by Mr. Crogg that stated he was to be the new executor. But I wasn’t inclined to relinquish my legal duties on the demands of Mr. Crogg without a court-certified document to substantiate his claims of guardianship over Peter, which would nullify my court-approved guardianship. He presented me with no such papers.
Therefore, I was not of the disposition to relinquish my legal duty on merely the verbal demands of Mr. Crogg,” she reiterated. “My services as a governess and as a tutor, if you check, are lawfully required until Peter, my ward, is handed over to an authorized guardian. In this case, the authorized guardians are his grandparents who live here in Boston. This can all be verified by contacting the Smith’s Chicago lawyers and Boston lawyers.”
She reached into her purse and took from it a small business card which she placed on the table. “This is the Chicago firm,” and she reached into her purse again and retrieved another business card. “This is the Boston firm,” and she placed that card on the table also. “A simple ring on the telephone to them, should settle this quite promptly.”
The sergeant gave her a skeptical, yet analytical look, then slowly reached over and picked up the cards from the table. After glancing over them, he stood to his feet, gave her a scowl of disbelief and left the room.
Allison glanced up at the lady officer who was guarding over her and gave her a half-meant smile. The woman officer didn’t make any effort to return the smile, instead, she just stared forward with a blank look in her eyes that reminded Allison of a vacant house.
Allison subtly averted her eyes from the woman and tried to give some thought to what was happening to her and to Peter. Believing deep in her mind this was all the ill-doings of Mr. Crogg, she shook her head ever so slowly and wondered about the extent of the evil plans and machinations he had invoked.
After the passage of some long, drawn-out minutes, the sergeant re-entered the room and shut the door with an inconsiderate slam which startled Allison into a jump. He sat down in an ungracious manner and placed the two cards back on the table as though he was playing some vicious game of taunt and tease, then gave her a stare which indicated deleterious intents. Allison observed him nervously.
“Well – Miss Hamilton . . . ” he finally dragged from his mouth as he leaned back in his chair. He gave her another stare which made her further uncomfortable.
“Well what?” she asked interrupting his gaze. “Am I free to go?”
The sergeant leaned forward and placed his forearms on the table and once again peered at the complaints listed in the folder. “It says here that you threatened the new executor.”
She questioned the sergeant with her eyes as she shook her head ‘no’ from the bewilderment she felt about that statement.
“You intended nothing rash?” he accused.
She stared at him defensively and declared: “There is no fragment of truth in that allegation.”
He studied her with a probing leer and aggravatingly prodded her, “None?”
“None at all Sir. What I told the new executor, was that he had no legal right to order my guardianship nullified without the due legal papers to back up that order.”
The sergeant continued to stare at her. “Oh? Are you an attorney?”
“Let me make myself clear,” she responded, “I have no need to issue threats. And to answer your question – no, I am not an attorney, but Mrs. Smith saw to it that I was thoroughly advised of my rights and Peter’s rights by her attorneys. Not only are they highly qualified, but they are also highly respected.” She gave the sergeant a penetrating stare and inquired, “Did they substantiate my claims?”
He sat back again and spoke in an uncaring way without answering her directly, “You’re free to go.”
“And what about my ward – the boy who was with me?” Although her voice was fraught with anxious concern, she spoke with a sense of self-assuredness.
The sergeant looked up at the policewoman as to say to her – ‘Keep an eye on her anyway while I go and check.’ “Just a moment,” he huffed at her with an air of being ‘put-out’. As he stood up he snarled, “I’ll ask,” and with a display of aggravation he pushed back his chair giving it such a thrust that it slammed into the wall, then he left the room.
Some minutes later he returned. He opened the door to the interrogation room and stood in the middle of the doorway; his face reflected no sign of sympathy and the tone of his voice carried no hint of compassion. “No word -” he dragged out with a sense of irritation.
Then with a bothersome drawl he informed: “The word is out on the streets. Every officer is being alerted. When they find him, of course,” he added with a sense of malice, “we will have to send him . . .” he calculatingly cut his sentence short and concluded, ” . . .we will let you know.”
The unspoken words between the lines of his sentences shot fear through her pure and gentle heart. He then added: “Someone at the department evidently sent for your father. I would presume he’s waiting for you in the lobby about now.”
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