Old James Ragner’s basement echoed as he worked. The welding torch he held hissed and popped as it touched the edges of a small box. Ragner’s eyes watered from the smoke of the torch. He rubbed at them but it didn't seem to help. An old grandfather clock in the corner ticked and donged away, telling Ragner that it was almost lunch time. The basement smelled of dust and mould. It was full of junk and had been leaking since the day Ragner and his wife moved in. Something he had meant to fix but never did.
He placed his welding torch down on the bench beside him. The metal box was sturdy and wouldn’t break until it needed to. He placed the box onto the bench in front of him. He picked up a large pale brick of explosive and placed it into the box. A perfect fit. Taking the red wire, he fiddled and twisted until it was right. The same with the blue wire. The yellow wire was next, but it wasn’t on the table. Where had he left it? Ragner huffed. He had forgotten to get it.
“It always the fucking yellow one,” he mumbled as he stood to retrieve the wire. He groaned as his bones ached, his knees most of all. Damn arthritis. It was in his knees, wrists and ankles. His body was wasting away.
The basement was dark, besides a small, flickering light that didn’t really show much of the room. It made it hard for Ragner’s old eyes to see, but he had memorised where everything was; he didn't need light to find his way around. The small, flickering light allowed Ragner to spot the fallen over stool. He frowned. When had he knocked it over? He shrugged and picked it up; his back clicked as he straightened. He chucked the stool onto a stack of other chairs in the corner. It landed with a thud and a crack—he had broken it. Ragner shrugged again. He didn't care. His wife probably would though.
The old stool was from his wife’s latest attempt at redecorating their house. She wanted a more country style, something warm and homely, she had told Ragner. He had warned her that within a matter of days she would hate it. She hadn’t listened, and a week later there was a whole bunch of new crap in Ragner’s basement.
It was the same with the table in the corner. It was from his wife’s yellow haul. She went out and started buying lots of things that were yellow, but a yellow table wouldn’t work, so instead she brought an old rustic wooden style table that matched. She wanted them both to feel happy, and apparently lots of yellow would do that. Most of it had ended up in the basement. The table was useful, though. It stored all of Ragner’s bits and pieces. Screws. Nails. Wire. All of the small things you wouldn’t want to lose. The table was worn and chipped, and was starting to rot.
Ragner rummaged through the boxes on the desk and found the piece of yellow wire he wanted, he only had two pieces left—he would need to get more. He turned back to his desk as water dripped down a leaky pipe to his left. The dishwasher had just finished. Soon lunch would be served. Ragner sat down and twisted and fiddled with the yellow wire until it was right. This wire needed to be perfect. This time it would work. Ragner smiled. It looked perfect, but then again, it had the last time. He placed the top of the box on and slipped it into the bottom of a draw.
The door to the basement opened and a beam of light lit up the bottom of the splintered, rotten stairs. Another thing he’d meant to fix. Had the stairs gotten that bad? The yellow power cable, that was wrapped around the stairs, was hanging loose, he would need to tighten that up; he wouldn’t want to trip. Ragner’s wife hollered out, “James, your lunch is ready!”
Ragner frowned. “I’m not deaf, woman.”
“Don’t call me ‘woman’.”
Ragner rolled his eyes, and mumbled, “Well, you aren’t a man.”
In the kitchen, Mrs. Ragner placed a glass of orange juice and a plate on the table. On the plate was Ragner’s favourite: his wife’s lasagne. He smiled as he entered the room, and took a seat. “Thank you, Renee.”
Mrs. Ragner smiled and kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome, darling.”
Ragner frowned at the orange juice. “Where’s my coffee?”
“You know what the doctor said.” Mrs. Ragner placed down her lunch next to him.
“Yeah, I know what he said. I chose to ignore him.”
“Well, I won’t. I would like to keep you around for a little longer.”
Ragner sighed and sipped his juice. “Anything for you, dear.”
Mrs. Ragner smiled.
The Ragner’s were a strange couple. Many of their neighbours found them odd and tended to avoid them. Ragner was a man that people found unpleasant to talk to. He was negative, and uninterested in other people’s drama. He wore the same style shirt and pants every day and liked to follow routine. Mrs. Ragner was different altogether. She wore brightly coloured dresses and big sun hats. She liked talking to people and getting the town gossip. However, Mrs. Ragner liked to give her opinion, whether it was welcome or not.
Children referred to Mr. Ragner as the Grinch of Old Oak Street, and Mrs. Ragner as the Wicked Witch. Children were always trying to get a glimpse of one of them. They dared each other to run up to the front door and ring the bell. If they succeeded, then they were brave; if they were chased out by Mrs. Ragner with her broom, they were a legend.
Parents tried to keep their children from annoying the couple, but in their old age, Mr and Mrs Ragner didn’t care. Their son had been a troublemaker. They understood how children could be. But everyone had their breaking point. On occasion, Ragner had dragged a child or two down to the police station. They left dog crap on his porch or defaced his property. When he had figured out which kid had done it, he made sure they got the scare of their lifetime.
Once Ragner finished his lunch, his wife sent him to take out the rubbish and collect the mail. With a kiss on his cheek, he carried a large, heavy bag of rubbish out to the bin. Along the little path that led to their front door, Ragner stopped to bend down and pick up rubbish that had blown into their yard. He groaned as his knees cracked. God damn his old body. Why did getting old have to make everything so difficult?
Ragner squashed the rubbish into the bin and closed the lid as the sound of a squeaky bicycle reached his ears. Ragner turned to see Jimmy Frank riding up the road on a yellow bike.
Jimmy Frank was eleven years old and the buffoon of the street. His face was covered in bright red freckles, and his large nose took up a lot of the space on his face. He was bullied, and tried to show how brave he was to the other kids. Jimmy always walked right up to Ragner and talked to him. He showed he wasn't afraid of some old man.
“Mr. Ragner!” Jimmy skidded to a stop.
“What?” Ragner walked towards the fence.
“Do you like my bike? My brother got a new one, so Mum let me have his old one.”
Ragner sighed. “Looks like crap to me.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say.” Jimmy leaned his bike against the fence. “Mum told me you would say something like that.”
“Why didn’t you listen to her, then?”
“Because I know that you tell the truth whether people like it or not. Just like Mrs. Ragner.”
Ragner frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the other day, Mum was down the shops with my lil’ sis and she was taking to our neighbour Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Hudson was saying how she thought Mr. Hudson was cheating on her and how she wanted to hire a detective to follow him and find out if she was right. Mrs. Ragner was walking past as Mum and Mrs. Hudson was talking and Mrs. Ragner said that Mrs. Hudson shouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Hudson was cheating on her because most men would cheat on a woman who looked like her.”
Ragner snorted. His wife certainly had a point about Mrs. Hudson. She wasn't what you would call pretty, at least not according to him. Ragner knew for a fact that Mr. Hudson always had a young girl on the side—had for years. Ragner knew that if his wife looked like Mrs. Hudson, he certainly wouldn’t want to be taking her to bed.
“Do you need help with anything, Mr. Ragner?” said Jimmy.
Ragner frowned. “What?”
“Do you need help with anything around the house? Mum told me that I should offer so that you and Mrs. Ragner can relax.”
Ragner shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”
“What about Mrs. Ragner?”
“We are both fine. Now scoot.”
“Okay. I’m going to go show off my bike to my friends, then. Bye, Mr. Ragner.” Jimmy grabbed his bike and rode off.
No one would care about the boy’s crappy second hand bike, even his supposed friends. Ragner sometimes felt sorry for the kid, he was a good kid but it was clear that his elder brother was the favourite. But there was nothing he could do for the boy. He knew what it felt like to have a brother who got all the attention. It was the reason he and his wife only ever had one child; Ragner didn't want to favour one over the other. Ragner watched until Jimmy disappeared around the corner, and then collected his mail. He frowned when he saw a letter from his brother. What did he want?
***
Ragner left his wife to finish the dishes after dinner. He’d kissed her head and thanked her for the lovely meal before retreating to his basement. He descended the old stairs and sat down at his desk. He pulled out the small box. Opening it once more, he connected the timer and made sure nothing was faulty.
The light above flickered as Ragner focused on connecting the detonator. His fingers shook slightly. Damn bloody fingers, he thought, they’d never stop. He connected the last wire and secured it in place. Closing the box, he sealed it shut and stood from his seat. He took an old bag hanging from a hook and placed the box inside.
He walked back up the stairs and found his wife sitting in the living room.
“Renee, I have to go and pick up a few things.”
Mrs. Ragner turned to look at him. “Would you like some company?”
“No. It’s okay, dear.” Ragner leant down and kissed her head. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Well, okay. Oh, stop in at the supermarket and get some fresh eggs, will you? We’re running low.”
Ragner nodded. “Sure.” He grabbed his keys and shrugged on his coat.
Ragner drove down to the old school. It was a small, run-down building. It had been abandoned after a teacher tried to burn it down with his students inside. Some students had lost their lives; many people had moved towns afterward. The building had been damaged to the point where they shut it down. The kids had to catch the bus to the school in the next town over. After the fire the council had cornered off the building with a large fence but there was no one to keep out the kids and the taggers, so the building was covered it graffiti of all sorts. Ragner thought that it was such a shame that his bomb had failed. It could have received a lot more attention if it had succeeded and killed everyone. Maybe the whole country would have heard about it. Ragner would have been famous. His parents wouldn’t have ignored him, then. But, no. It was the yellow wire that had ruined his moment.
Ragner nudged the old fence with the front of his car. The gate swung open, barely holding onto its hinges. He parked his car and looked around. No one was in sight. Good. It had been a while since he’d returned to the school; he had made sure to stay clear that day so no one knew it was him. He had waited, though. He expected the police to barge through his door and arrest him, but they never did. Soon the town had moved forward, and people stopped talking about it.
Grabbing the bag from the seat beside him, Ragner climbed out his car and walked into the old building. The blast shouldn’t destroy the whole building. Most likely, it would make a small hole in the floor. That was what he hoped it would do, anyway. But then again, the building was barely standing; it was possible that the blast would bring the whole thing down. If it worked on this dump, then it would be a huge success on his next target.
Finding a large, open classroom, Ragner placed down the box in the centre. The room was still filled with old tables and chairs; they still showed black scorch marks from the flames that had once consumed them. The classroom Ragner had chosen was where the fire had started, and where students had died. He opened the box and set the timer for two minutes before synching it with his watch. Ragner left the building.
As he approached his car, he heard squeaking. Ragner turned and saw Jimmy riding down the street. Jimmy spotted him.
“Jimmy! What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Ragner?” Jimmy skidded to a stop.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Jimmy sighed. “I would have been home hours ago, but the bike wheels keep locking.”
Ragner frowned. “I said the bike was crap.”
“No need for I told you so.”
Ragner shrugged.
“You fix lots of things. Can you fix my bike?” said Jimmy. He held a hopeful and pleading look in his eyes.
Ragner frowned. He needed this kid gone. “If I must. Bring it to the house tomorrow. Now get home.”
Jimmy nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Ragner.”
BOOM!
Jimmy screamed and dropped his bike. Ragner jumped.
“What the hell was that?” said Jimmy.
Ragner rubbed at his chest. Trying to calm his racing heart. Excitement isn't good for the blood pressure, according to the doctor.
“Mr. Ragner?” said Jimmy.
Ragner pleaded. “Jimmy, go home.”
“Not until you tell me what that was.”
“It’s none of your concern. Get on home before I tell your mother that you were up to mischief.”
Jimmy sniffed. “No need to get mean, Mr. Ragner.”
Ragner rubbed his face. “I wouldn’t need to if you’d just listen.”
“I just wanna know what that noise was.”
“There isn’t any need for you to know.”
“But I want to!”
“Jimmy, go home.”
“Was it a bomb?” Jimmy’s eyes glowed with intrigue.
“What?” shouted Ragner. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, what else goes bang?”
Ragner groaned. Children drove him crazy. Jimmy most of all. He wanted to strangle this kid.
“Well, was it?”
“What?” said Ragner.
“A bomb!”
“No. Go home.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe. Now get out of here!”
Jimmy frowned, but jumped back on his bike. “I’m gonna tell Mum that you were here, she’ll find out what you up too.”
Ragner glared at him. He stepped up to Jimmy’s bike and gripped the handles. He should strangle the kid. He didn’t need people finding out now, not after all this time. Jimmy looked at Ragner confused, he looked slightly scared. Ragner felt bad. He didn’t know why but he couldn’t hurt Jimmy. Maybe he had grown fond of the constant annoyance the kid brought. No, that couldn’t be it. Ragner huffed and let go of the handlebars.
Jimmy sat on his bike and stared at Ragner.
“What are you waiting for? Get!”
Jimmy jumped and turned his bike around.
Ragner sighed as he watched the boy ride off, his wheel clicking. He hoped the boy would keep his mouth shut.
***
Ragner entered the kitchen to find his wife making breakfast, and Jimmy sitting at the table. Jimmy had a stack of pancakes in front of him, drenched in maple syrup.
Ragner frowned. “What are you doing here?”
Jimmy smiled. “You said you would fix my bike.”
He had forgotten about that. When he had gotten home, he had placed the eggs his wife requested in the fridge and went back into his basement. He’d grabbed all the pieces he would need. He had spent most of the night down there.
“After he eats, he will,” said Mrs. Ragner.
Ragner nodded. “Do I get a stack of those amazing pancakes?”
Mrs. Ragner smiled. She put a bowl of fruit in front of him. “No.” She kissed his check.
Jimmy snorted.
Ragner sighed and picked up a fork. He never got anything he wanted.
Jimmy’s yellow bike was falling apart. Ragner could spend days working on the bike and making it safe, but he didn't have the time. He had a bomb to make.
Jimmy sat impatiently on a stool. He swung his legs back and forth, back and forth. The movement distracted Ragner as he worked.
“Are you done yet?” said Jimmy.
Ranger huffed. “I would be done if you sat still for two seconds.”
Jimmy moaned. “But I’m bored! I wanna hang out with my friends.”
Ranger tightened the last bolt and pushed himself up from his knees. “There. Take it.”
Jimmy smiled. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Ragner!” Jimmy climbed onto his bike and smiled at Ragner.
“Bring it back maybe next week and I can finish fixing it for you.”
Jimmy smiled. “That would be great.”
Ragner forced a smile for Jimmy. He was a good kid. Still a buffoon but a good kid.
“Oh, Mr. Ragner.”
“Yes, Jimmy?”
“I know I said I would tell Mum what you were up to last night but I didn’t. You are my only friend so I won’t say anything. I promise.” Jimmy pushed off and rode down the road.
Ragner was left standing there shocked for a moment. The kid called him his only friend. Jimmy reminded Ragner more of his son than he realised.
Inside, Mrs. Ragner was watching daytime TV. Soap operas were Mrs. Ragner’s favourite thing to watch; sometimes she would force Ragner to sit down and watch them with her, until he found a good enough excuse to get downstairs.
Mrs. Ragner smiled at him. “Jimmy’s bike fixed?”
“Yeah.” Ragner sighed. “That bike won’t last long, though. Piece of junk.”
“Well, you could give him our son’s old bike.”
Ragner shrugged. “I don’t even know where it is.”
Mrs. Ragner sighed. “In the basement.”
“I’ll never find it in there.”
“Clean it up.”
“It’s your junk, my dear. You clean it up.”
Mrs. Ragner smiled.
Ragner walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The letter from his brother still sat on the bench, unopened. He picked that up and walked to the basement down. Carrying the glass down the stairs, Ragner reached out for the light and clicked it but he stumbled, his foot caught in the loose yellow cable that was wrapped through the stairs. His other foot hit the last step and it cracked, splintering into pieces. He tried to reach for a chair to grabbed onto but he missed and fell to the ground. The glass slipped from his finger and shattered on the ground, the water spilling. His head hit the ground with a crack.
Ragner laid on the ground for a moment. His heart was racing and thumping in his ears, his breathing was heavy and he couldn’t move. The damn stairs, should have fixed them sooner. Ragner looked at the broken glass and saw the water. Mrs. Ragner would be annoyed that she had to clean up the mess.
Ragner gripped the letter from his brother in his hand; it was wet from the water. He managed slowly to pull the letter towards him. He found it hard to breathe. He held it closer to his eyes and through the soaked envelope saw his brother’s messy scrawl, all he could read were three words. I love you. Ragner gasped and gripped the letter. His head spun, he couldn’t focus. He hadn’t ever heard those three words from anyone in his family, not that he could remember. His chest burned; the pain unlike anything he had ever felt before.
It wasn’t like the pain he felt when his family rejected him. It wasn’t like the pain he felt when he burned his hand on his first bomb attempt ever. It wasn’t like the pain he felt when he buried his son.
Everything up till now was meant to get rid of his pain but now he was left with nothing but pain. All because of that fucking yellow wire.
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