P.R.O.B.E.

Chapter 1
Part 1: Prologue

Chapter Description: A small set-up for the story of a young man named Jonathan

Part 1: Prologue.

“Jonathan…”

The young man didn’t move. He still sat there with his head tilted down, unaware of how to proceed. They told him that everything would get worked out in the end.

“Jonathan we need a decision.”

Jonathan looked up at the woman sitting up across from him. The mahogany tablet reflected her face just above the 8.5 x 11 piece of paper he was supposed to be reviewing. The woman cleared her throat and stretched out her hand to Jonathan. “I understand it’s difficult to comprehend. All of this must be a whirlwind of fear and emotions for you--”

“I’m not afraid,” Jonathan cut in, “I’m not afraid of what’s going on. And forgive me but you’re not my mother so don’t think the sensitive woman shtick will make me feel any better.”

His voice was quiet but nevertheless filled with an underlying string of threat. Years of practicing made it that way. He could be loud when he wanted to, sure, but after so much time, after all he went through in recent years, he adopted this vocal pattern as a default.

Ms. Henderson looked at him with a slightly offended gaze. She sighed. “I know I’m not your mother, Jonathan, I’m your counselor. And you know that I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to.”

“Damn right you can’t.” He said under his breath.

“I can only offer you this suggestion,” Ms. Henderson continued, knocking away Jonathan’s remark. “The homeowners said that they are pressing charges but they are willing to rethink it if you agree to community service.”

“I’m nobody’s slave.” Said Jonathan defensively. “They want me on the side of the highway picking up trash in an orange jumpsuit so everyone who drives by can see the fuck-up doing his time.”

“Well the good news, John,” cut in Ms. Henderson, “Is that the community service would include helping repair the damages that you caused to their house. Fixing a stone walkway and helping repair a lawn is better than time in the jail.”

Jonathan considered this. As tough as he considered himself to be, he didn’t want to go to prison. An orphan with a track record of misdemeanors isn’t hardcore enough to stand up against shankings and forced rape. He wasn’t a minor anymore and prison meant prison prison. He picked up the paper on the desk in front of him.

“So what is this thing? P.R.O.B.E? Sounds like a geek convention for alien enthusiasts.”

“Pre-Rehabilitation Organization for Behavioral Episodes,” corrected Ms. Henderson. It’s a new company designed to help people in your situation. They organize the community service and once you are finished they have a high chance of minimizing your sentence. Sign that, and you may not even have to do any community service at all.”

Jonathan thought for a minute before clicking the pen in his hand and putting it to the paper. Before he signed, he looked up at Ms. Henderson. He barely tilted his head up to her, but instead looked up through his brow. Her face was partially obscured by his eyebrows. “You think this is the right way to go?”

Ms. Henderson smiled. “I think it would be best for you. This project will help you in the long run. Think of it as a clean slate.”

The thought of a clean slate made Jonathan’s heart skip a beat. Anything that could help him start over would be a blessing. But he couldn’t see how clean the slate could possibly get. Signing a piece of paper doesn’t undo the past. It doesn’t bring parents back to life. It doesn’t un-vandalize a house by crashing a car through a stone wall and skidding to a halt on some old geyser’s garden. Either way, he put pressure on his hand and signed his name where he was supposed to.

He handed the paper to Ms. Henderson who smiled warmly at him. “I think this is a good choice for you.”

Jonathan smiled out of the corner of his mouth and tilted his head down toward the table. The mahogany wood reflected his face. He needed to shave, and the bruise on his forehead where a rock had struck him as he drove through the small stone ledge surrounding the garden shimmered purple against the gloss polish of the wood.

What a week he was having.

To be continued…