THE NEXT DAY, PETER WOKE-UP early before his-regular time… as it was the day – of the ‘detailing’ of his masterplan in school-holidays of…

… extorting the rich to ‘finance’ the capital to – ‘BUY THE WALKER-HOUSE… before the ‘next’ school-term…

… and work-on his tennis-fitness too…

From his bed, the one-armed tween peeked below at the Nike shoebox in the dark-space… with the sleeping critter inside it… something felt-odd…

… he gently-pulled the box to observe in awe… that the dark-brown furry coat of the Quokka had Pokka-dots OF WHITE-FURS…

‘… is JW ‘diseased’…? Is it something he ‘ate’…?’

Peter was ‘glad’ that his lucky-charm was STILL ‘ALIVE’… nor it was ‘suffering’ in-pain – as the-quokka was peacefully slumbering in the shoebox… smiling-at its good-dreams…

“… sleep, my Dalmatian-boy… daddy’s thirsting for some coke and go tennis practice – later, I’m gonna vacuum your stinky-poop… and also ‘build’ a sandbox for you… and-then potty-train you… and show you the proper way of ‘how’ we city-folks ‘do’ it here, okay-boy … bye, for now…”

Peter placed the shoebox back-under the dark-space…

At the dresser, was both of his devices were power-charging – Peter strapped-on his robotic-arm and switched on his AI…

“Oii-Pete! Rise-and-shine, you sleepy-head…!!!” Peter picked-up his Babolat from the rack and ‘bounced’ a tenno on the floor…

“… yes, Master – what can-I ‘do’ you-for, sir…?”

“I want the ‘personal’ cell-number of one-Hans Zimmerman in Perth… this German-father of my ‘friend’… who-is in the mining-business…”

“…do you ‘want’ me to fix an appointment with Mr Zimmerman, Master…?”

“NO! You shit-head… I don’t bloody want any of your ‘further-assistance nor suggestions’ – ‘unless’ instructed, understand…? Just ‘get’ his bloody phone-number!!!”

“Yes, Master…”

Peter left by the room-door and peeked-out to the empty-upstairs hallway – and ‘noticed’ the active CCTV on the celling… watching-him leaving his bedroom…

He sighed… to the cumbersome task of ‘scrubbing’ the Hateful-8 footage of yesterday’s breaking-into the music-room… to access the secret-elevator to go-down to the bunker which his father had ‘built’ under the house…

It was ‘still’ early in the morning when he walked downstairs holding his Babolat… the downstairs was quiet without the irritating videogame noises as his fat-twin was still asleep. Outside the window, at the porch… was the parked white Audi of his mother-who had ‘returned’ from her night-duty…

… everyone-and-the-dingo were asleep under the Walkers’ roof – and was the ‘perfect’ time for Peter to ‘GET-RID’ the evidence of the ‘failed’ treasure-hunt… but first, he ‘needed’ his morning-caffeine…

Peter walked up to the fridge and ‘gently’ opened-it to reached-out for a coke… and gingerly-closed the door shut… from the nearby presence of Paul-the-watchdog’s bedroom.

He went to the main front-door where the Security-console system was – and keyed-in the password…

… making 2 mistakes of keyword entry… as he was ‘not’ a morning person ‘today’… still groggy after late-night of – ‘learning-some-cool-spells’ from his-daddy’s journal and followed by Netflix…

… he was ‘in’ the system… Peter jabbed his metal-finger at the Rewind-button but – ‘accidently’ hit the date button… that rewinded all-of last-months’ security footages…

… In the quiet living-room, Peter ‘screamed’ internally…

…. now he had to ‘forward-manually’ through 3-weeks of the CCTV hallway footages – to get back to the current-today’s date…

… which would take 8 long-minutes…

He pressed the button with his ‘RIGHT-HAND,’ and let the forward-sequence run – as his mind was ‘worried’ about his leftie-robotic-arm that he had ‘not’ mastered full-control-of…

‘… I ‘get’ clumsy and drop things… and bump a lot and the-metal ‘hurt’ my stump… thank-God, with rehab-and-therapy, I ‘LEARNED’ TO USE my right hand to do everything from eating-writing-and tying my shoes for 3 years since…

‘… ‘when’ would I GET MY ‘FULL CONTROL’ of my-Smasher…? ‘Its’ fingers are ‘not’ sensitive-enough… and do-get ‘clumsy,’ and puts me in the ‘spotlight’…

…just like-now… I’ve to go speed-whizz THROUGH 8 bloody minutes of boredom…’

After the 5th ennui minute, he was seeing-and-realising that he had ‘not’ been outside the room ‘often’ despite being an outdoor-person – and Peter blamed it on the zombie-lockdown for it…

After the 4th monotony minute, he felt like in a ‘silent movie’ walking fast like the funny Charlie Chaplin, coming in-and-out of ‘his’ room… and Caroline the other upstairs occupant was coming in-and-out of ‘her’ room too… who in her uniform who looked ‘moving’ fast as a Keystone-Kop…

Peter chuckled as he saw on monitor-screen of the silent-footages… that ‘THEY’ WERE BOTH ‘going-only’ to ‘their’ respective-rooms – ‘not’ to the other-person’s room…

‘… you can ‘never’ catch-me in WHATEVER I DO, Mom… cos’ this Chaplin is ‘slick,’ you bumbling-bimbo cop…’

After the 2nd tedium minute, Peter saw a ‘FAST-BLUR’ in the hallway caught by the CCTV camera… he hit the ‘Pause-Button’… and-then Rewinded-to-play…

… Peter was ‘shocked’ to see HIS-TWIN PAUL on the screen ‘flying-over’ upstairs… and he waited momentarily at his room-door… before entering…

‘… why is Poe ‘entering’ my room…!!? It’s MY ‘SHOES’ – he’s trying to ‘steal’ my shoes…’

Peter left the console-device in a hurry… and RAN UPSTAIRS to his room…

… the tween RUSHED TO his wardrobe-closet to check on his shoes – because…

… in the other-Perth, PAUL STOLE his priced-Nike sneakers on the night they-both ‘flew’ to the South Perth Zoo – TO ‘RESCUE’ Samuel ‘Jaheem’ Wilson who was kidnapped…

Peter was shocked-and-confused that all of his 5 pairs of sneakers ‘were’ in the closet… and, that puzzled-and-baffled him further…

‘… ‘why’ was Poe in my’ room…? Is he ‘playing’ Casper with-me, when I’m ‘asleep’…?’

Peter was then ‘pale’ as-the Casper-ghost-himself… when he thought of the worst-possibility…

‘… oh-my-God… Poe was ‘planning’ TO KILL-ME…! That dirty-quad IS PLANNING to OFF-ME…’

He was ‘still’ in the state of trepidation when he walked down-the-stairs… thinking of Perthland, where Paul shot’ him in the heart @Stamford Hotel…

‘…ooo, my-guards were ‘down’… I ‘could’ HAVE BEEN KILLED… from now-onwards I must be ‘vigilant’ – I ‘MUST’ LOCK my room-door before I sleep…’

Peter was ‘back’ at the home-Security console-device – and stared at the frozen-CCTV image of his crippled-superhero twin…

… he took out his iPhone and VIDEOED THE FOOTAGE of Paul’s ‘clandestine’ presence…

‘… as it was ‘good’ to have ‘dirt’ on you-Poe, in ‘every-REALM’ WE-GO – as my-leverage… it would ‘pay-off’ someday TO ‘EXPOSE’ your superhero secret-identity…

…where, just-like the other-Perth… I ‘HAD’ recorded you fatty-fats taking a nap, as you levitated from your bed… so @post-Treton – it’s you-playing-Casper-my-nemesis-Ghost…

‘… I bloody ‘GOT’ YOU this-time-Poe… ‘now’ who’s smarter…You-or-Me…?’

Peter looked at the Time-Code stamp of WHEN’ IT happened… and, was ‘more’ shocked at the ticking passage of time ‘DURATION’ OF POE-in his-room…

‘… it ‘happened’ a fortnight-ago… ‘why’ were YOU ‘MORE’ than 2-hour in my room, you-psycho…? Thank-God, Mom WAS ‘THERE’ in her room – or ‘else’ you would-have KILLED ME that-night…!!!’

Peter looked at the wall-clock that was about to-be 8 A.M. – time for his Godzilla-twin to take his-poop…

… he stopped his dillydallying of ‘analysing’ the ‘psycho-twin’ footage – and got-back to his task at-hand – which was to ERASE THE FOOTAGE of the Hateful-8’s yesterday’s mission @bunker…

And, just like a secret-spy ‘ghost’ – Peter stepped outdoors to the garden to practise his grass-tennis…

-O-

“Oii-Pete, you there…? Did you get Zimmerman’s number?”

“… yes, Master – I’m ‘here’ – no, Master… I do ‘not’ have the number you ‘had’ requested for…”

“Why-not…!!? How ‘many’ sauerkraut-Zimmermans are there in Perth, you-dummy…?”

“… but-you had requested for his ‘personal’ number – and, I ‘have’ his company’s number, Master – ‘should’ I put you-through…?”

“No-No, you idiot… I don’t want to talk to his bloody-secretary – get-me his ‘personal’ number!”

“… very-well, Master – please ‘give’ me more time…”

“Arrg! Do-it ‘later’ – I wanna practice tennis… sync-up Spectral to Smasher ‘now’…”

“Yes, Master…”

While his headphone whirled its-matrix, Peter did his stretching-exercise to warm-up…

“… Master, it is ‘ready’ – you can ‘proceed’ with your practice…”

Peter hit the tenno at an ‘imaginary-net’ on the wall of the house of Walker… soon-after, the 3rd hit bounced, the provoked’ Kitty barked… after the 10th hit bounced, Paul was heard shouting at ‘his’ dog to quieten-it-up…

…Peter chucked, as he ‘kept-on’ hitting the wall…

“Wakey-wakey… ‘you-mediocre’ quad, ‘dreamy-times’ are over… by the way, ‘did-I-enjoy’ the hardcore-movie I ‘had-directed’ for you last-night… And a behind-the-scene ‘fact’ here… that I shot the entire-selfie location in the elevator of the Blake Tower… our-Perth’s very-own tallest building – me-and-Janey were riding ‘this’ slow-assed-moving’ elevator… and I buggered her from-the-rear, hahaha… how do you ‘like’ it, Poe – TO-BE ‘TORMENTED’ with my incredible-imaginations…!!?”

-O-

Paul had-to wake-up as his dog’s barking ‘were’ getting louder… he ‘cursed’ and got-off the bed…

‘… damn you-inconsiderate devil… mom is sleeping upstairs ‘after’ her night-duty – even I would like to sleep a little-more today-a-weekend… but… ‘here’ you are – to ‘provoke’ us all by ‘bouncing’ your bloody-tenno on the-wall – so… everything ‘should-be’ about YOU… is that-it…?’

… Paul wheelchaired out of his windowless-room…

-O-

After an hour of intensive workout, the sun was out on the Sunday. Peter was sitting under the willow tree drinking his coke… and looking at the house wall with patches of brown tenno-soil marks…

“Oy, Pete-Puma… what was Smasher’s ‘speed’…?” Peter asked…

“… 163 mph, Master…”

“… mediocre…” Peter cursed to-himself…

“… no-worries, Master… you’ll attain your ‘expectation’ with more training-practices… as ‘what’ I think…”

“How ‘do’ you know…YOU ‘ARE-NOT’ the one-who is playing-here, okay…!??? You ‘talk’ as-though YOU ‘KNOW’ IT ALL… and saying out-aloud your-fancy-positive assumptions in your-dummy retarded-voice – ‘when’ YOU DON’T ‘KNOW’ SHIT, you-bloody-junk of an AI!!!” Peter dissed the AI…

“… sorry-Master…”

Peter drank-up the rest-of the coke, and got-up to walk to the wall. Still crushing the aluminium-can with his black-metal-palm, and Peter stared at the wall and ruminating a moment… he then looked at the can that was crushed in his hand – that looked as-small like a red golf-ball…

… he put the little compact-metal ball into his pocket… to save it as a memento… that may worth a-lot ‘when’ he became a tennis-pro superstar some-day…

… if Coca-Cola™ endorsed him…

“Oy, useless-Pete… I WANT TO DRAW a ‘straight’ black-line ‘across’ the wall as a 3 feet-high net… and you’re going to ‘help’…”

“… err, okay… but ‘did’ you ask your mother’s permission…? It may bring the property-value down if you…”

“Oy-shut-up, bloody-Pete – ‘this’ is my-FATHER’S HOUSE – and I’ll ‘do’ what ‘ever’ as I please here…!!!”

The arrogant-tween walked-up to the garage-cum-storage to get the can of paint. He opened the vertical-sliding door to the dark-space… that were filled with his late-father’s home-office work-related things in large cardboard boxes by Caroline on the floor…

… he walked-past cartons ‘where’ his father’s BMW that ‘took-his-left-arm’ used to be parked… 3-years-ago before the tragic-accident.

Peter went to the work-bench, and below it was several tins of paint that were untouched for 3-years till-today…

He returned to the wall – with a can of stirred black-paint, a 3” painting-brush and a carpenter’s pencil… Peter instructed his AI…

“Oy, Pete-the-talker-not-walker – here is how-it-is… I want to ‘draw’ a straight-line without ‘using’ a ruler or measuring tape… cos’ I can’t find-one – it should-be 3’ feet high, of your Yankie-measurements of bloody feet-and-inches… can you do that… while I hold the pencil… and walk-backwards…?”

“… err… okay Master… I’ll try…”

The AI-device ‘lock-froze’ the metal-arm 3-feet from the ground – Peter put the tip-of-the pencil on the white wall…

“… go-Master… hold the pencil tight-and-steady…”

Peter walked backwards… with his pencil held like a knife to the wall… while the pencil-nib drew the straight-black-line on the white surface…

The tween stepped back to see if the line was crooked… and-was satisfied…

“… ‘not’ bad, you mediocre-piece of trash-talker-tech – you ‘pass’…”

“Thank-you, Master…”

For the next half-hour, Peter painted a 3-meter-length black-border line on the white-wall, under the morning sun…

… before returning indoors.

-O-

The sweaty-Peter walked into an air-conditioned living-room and was thirsting for a coke. Noticing also, his twin was ‘not’ at the IKEA table. He grabbed the soda from the fridge… and detecting the backdoor-to the backyard was open…

He sneaked over to the kitchen-window… with ‘irritating’ videogame-noises coming from the backyard. Peter peeked to see Paul was in his wheelchair in the sun… wearing sunnies and playing Dota. The Belgian Malinois was eating in a bowl…

Peter sipped his coke as he spied in silence… before he scoffed…

‘… WHAT WERE you doing ‘inside’ my room for 2-hours, you psycho…?’

After a while of being ‘puzzled,’ he left the kitchen…

…and went upstairs to his room to shower…

-O-

He returned to his room and stepped-back IN SHOCK – as his pet-Quakka’s fur was 40% with white-patches…

‘… how is that possible – a couple of hours-ago… it has ‘only’ Pokka-dot white spots – ‘now’ it had spread all ‘over’…’

The unafraid critter hopped-over to its master… looking from below, with its silly-smile…

“Whoa! Back-off JW… are you diseased…? Do you have a ‘skin’ problem…?”

Peter ran around the room, avoiding ‘touching’ it – as Joey-Walker hopped-along behind following him…

He jumped up his bed – AND OBSERVED the Quokka stationary below… smiling at him…

… then it ‘dawned’ to him – where last night ‘holding’ Joey-Walker as A LUCKY-CHARM while reciting spells from his dad’s journal…

“… IT WORKED – ‘ONE’ OF THE SPELLS – made JW this ‘way’…!!!”

The excited Peter got-off the bed and went-on to touch-and-examine the critter that – was brown-and-white… looking ‘now’ of more-like a guinea-pig in its dual colour-patches…

Peter took out some eucalyptus leaves from his pocket that he picked from the garden – and fed it… he was rapt…

“Isn’t this cool-or-what, Joey-Walker…? I can DO KICK-ASS ‘MAGIC’… just-like Doctor Strange…”

-O-

For the next hour, Peter vacuumed-and-tidied his bedroom, and later took a quick-shower. He then proceeded to order lunch… he had craved for some-pasta – and a delivery of Spaghetti Carbonara with extra-bacon and plenty-of Parmigiana-cheese came…

After a full tummy, Peter lazed in bed… thinking of the remaining-days left ‘before’ school reopened from the term-break – noticing he had … LED A ‘ROUTINED-LIFE’ in his lockdown-vacation with ‘only’ 3 actives:

Mornings – tennis training and fitness regime Afternoons – pay a visit to ‘his’ soulmate… and give Janey bad dream in her-nap Nights – ‘revisit’ his soulmate… and play his nightmare-game of hide-and-seek with Janey in the Garden-of-Eden… … * and his ‘side-project’ – of giving Poe a wet-dream… with the Perth’s Famous Couple’s porn-shows – featuring… the one-and-only ‘Peter-and-Janey’

Peter scoffed at his frustration of ‘NOT’ CAPTURING the soul-of-his-soulmate in the Dreamworld…

… every ‘night’ in the Garden of Eden – he could ‘NOT’ FIND Janey…

‘… where ‘are’ you hiding…my sweet-sweet virgin…?’

And, for several afternoon Peter had ‘not’ CONNECTED TO-JANEY – ‘when’ she had REFUSED TO take her after-lunch naps…

… the incubus-in-Peter ‘was’ in deep-pain… of the ‘hunger’ its soulmate-virgin appetite…

‘… I’ll ‘get’ you, O’ Blind-one… I’ll ravish you ‘soon,’ my-precious-prize… it’s ‘worth’ of my-pain suffered…!!!’

-O-

The next few hours, Peter was on his bed, on iPad – ‘learning’ about magic in YouTube…

… ‘not’ some ‘mediocre’ pulling a rabbit-from-the-hat ‘magic’…

…but the ‘serious’ TRUE-MAGIC like the ‘ones’ written in his father’s journals – the ‘one’ of the ancient medieval Sumerian’s…

Peter was engrossed-and-intrigued with the subject-matter… until…

… Caroline-in-her-uniform entered his room ‘without’ knocking…

… that threw the-tween ‘off’…

… with HIS FEAR of the inspector-mother ‘seeing’ Joey-Walker…

… he sighed in relief ‘that’… the-Quakka was taking a nap under his bed…

“Come-on, Mom… knock-please for my privacy… I’m ‘not’ little any more…”

Caroline smiled at her adolescent-son…

“… just checking on you, my little man… hmm-good-job… you’ve cleaned’ your room… heard the vacuum-machine just now…”

Said the pleased Caroline… to the elder-twin son…

“… oh-okay… ‘why’ are you going to work on your off-day…?” Asked Peter.

“It’s ‘not’ my off-day, my dear-boy… I-wished-that-it-was – I’m on ‘stand-by’ duty this-Sunday…and got some paper-report to make-and-summit – but I’ll be back to you ‘both’ before dinner…”

Promised the ‘working-mother’ to the elder-twin son…

“… You’ll ‘nail’ him soon, Mom – you’ll be promoted to Detective-inspector ‘next’ in the PPD…”

… Peter ‘encouraged’ his weary-and-tired looking inspector-mother ‘who’ – seemed at-2-minds to go to-work...

“… nail-whom…? Detective-Inspector promotion…? You mean… the Hajji’s case…?”

“Yes-Mom HAJJI! ‘Not’ his argy-bargy twin who-goes-by the name Bajji-Kinte, I’m talking about here… yes, you’ll ‘NAIL’ HAJJI soon – and, GET YOUR-detective promotion…!”

Caroline chuckled…

“… what ‘makes’ you say I’ll arrest Hajji…?” Caroline replied in a doubtful voice…

“… you the ‘one’ who that-one-night had ‘cornered’ him in the Blake-Tower… during some Korean cultural-show, innit…?” Peter reminded…

“… but the bugger ‘got’ away…” Caroline laughed casually…

… recalling herself chasing the criminal on-foot – where the street was in a stand-still traffic-jam, on the night of the Aurora Australis…

“… you’ll ‘catch’ him soon, Mom – ‘nobody’ is above the law when it comes to ‘murder’… and-then you’ll ‘get’ promoted…” Peter reassured.

“Hahaha… this is the 3rd time you ‘said’ that I’ll be promoted – thank-you for wishing that for your-mom… but-anyway, I don’t think I WANT IT… a detective-job is highly-pressured, which I don’t think I ‘want’ that-stress in ‘this-time’ of my life… I have also-been ‘planning’ to opt for an early-retirement when I’m 40… once you and your brother graduate…”

Caroline gave her pragmatic-thought…

“… huh… then why are you ‘going’ on night-duty then… It’s ‘been’ 3 MONTHS since ‘before’ school break – aren’t you ‘not’ ‘working’ the Hajji-the-zombie case, any more…?” Peter was puzzled…

“The entire Perth’s Police-forces are ‘working-on’ capturing the most-wanted-man… even the army were involved as they mobilize the streets in the city-lockdown at nights. The police-departments of Perth – are ‘NO’ LONGER IN-CHARGE of ‘arresting’ Hajji-alone… the situation has ‘now-grown’ to-be-as an epidemic-level… the Mayor ‘had’ commissioned to the National Intelligence-Department to come-in – and assist ‘our’ police-departments…”

Caroline elaborated the state of affairs-and-circumstances – as a frontliner in the chaos by-night-Perth…

“… if that-is-that… then-what do you do in the night-shifts… other than drinking black-coffee…?” Peter mocked…

“… in the evenings… there are a dozen of cases of violent zombie-attacks – and, I’m doing the ‘clean-up’… where we-capture the victims who were infected to-be taken-to hospitals. Then by midnight, the violence-grows when the random clustered-groups – who hid-in the-day and create havoc in the city-at-night when-they ‘come-out’ then…

“… that’s where the military comes in-to contain THE ‘EPIDEMIC’… before the violence spread-out to neighbourhoods and nearby towns – OR-ELSE, the whole of the Western-Australia State would be-on a ZOMBIE-PANDEMIC-ALERT… but no worries-sweetie… our neighbourhood IS SAFE’ as we are out-of-the city-limits…”

Caroline saw Peter speechless… and she looked at her watch…

“… I got to go to work… see you at dinner… we have a ‘guest’ coming…”

“… that-Principal Harris ‘again’…?” Peter asked…

“… yep, he’s ‘buying’ dinner, and we’ll have it ‘here’ at-home – you ‘be’ downstairs by 7… bye-see you later…” Caroline left…

Peter scoffed on the bed…

‘… the dinner conversation would-be ‘more’ of the ‘selling-of’ my house – Tom-and-Carol had ‘been’ planning this a long-time ‘behind’ my back – cos this version-of-mom is ‘mediocre-and-useless’… ‘not’ ambitious as-like the ‘one’ of the other-Perth… who was ‘promoted’ to Detective Inspector when she ‘closed’ the Hajji-case ‘back-there’…

‘… ‘this-mom’ is complacent-and-contented with her life just-like – her-counterpart ‘version’ of Mrs Joe Dickson of Perthland – who was only-a ‘mere-lowly’ desk-Sargent…

‘… ‘this-mom’ too, want to-get married… like Mrs Joe Dickson…

‘… to ‘that’ useless-divorcee – who ‘always’ gets-himself ‘invited’ each-time for dinner on mom’s day-off…

‘… by-hook-or-by-crook, I ‘must’ buy my-house before Tom-and-Carol ‘sell’ it…

‘… by ‘how’ do I do that…?’

<><>

PETER WHO TOOK A NAP – woke-up to a ‘huge’ hangover…

… he had ‘searched’ for his soul-mate at the Dreamworld… to re-enact her ‘afternoon-nap’ bad dream – that takes place during Halloween-night at the empty-school… where in a-black Venom-costume – chasing the topless-Janey in the SHS main-hallway… to ‘play’ with her-puppies…

… but she was ‘NOT’ THERE…

‘… where ‘are’ you, Janey…?’

Peter sat-up on the bed – and felt a terrible pain in his head…

‘…ARRGG! Make it ‘stop’…JANEEYYY!!!

‘… what did you-do to ‘me,’ you-cursed Blind-one…? Have you ‘been’ drinking…!!?’

The weary Peter went back to sleep…

-O-

Peter woke-up an hour later to the sound-of gnawing-and-scratching – he opened his-eyes and the pain-in his-head had subsided… and peeked groggy at the alarm-clock – 5:57 P.M…

‘… still-early… for dinner… with Tom-and-Carol… @7…’

… but the ‘irritating’ sound persisted…

The sleepy-and-bleary tween looked over to his desk… and was ‘making-out’ in his woozy-mind of what it-was of the noise…

He ‘thought’ he saw a rabbit-from-a-magician’s-hat – the critter was gnawing-and-scratching one of the legs of his-desk…

‘… huh… Joey-Walker…?’

… the brown-and-white patched-Quakka had metamorphosed to-be AN ALBINO…

“What the f***…!!?”

… ‘hearing its master’s voice, the white furred-wallaby with pink-coloured-eyes – hopped-to the bed to Peter…

The astonished-and-rapt Peter jumped out of the bed – to carry-it…

“Hahaha…JW, it ‘worked’! Dad’s SPELLS ‘WORKED’ – I wanted a white-Quakka… and, here you-are as white as-me, hahaha…!”

Peter kissed its snout – Joey-Walker grinned-back…

“You’re my lucky-charm… I’ll take care of you, my darling-rat… I’ll groom you-too… physically-and-mentally…but first-things-first… you need a manicure…”

He carried his pet over to his desk, and sat it on his lap – took his nail-cutter from the drawer and begin to trim its claws… as he-also cautioned the ‘wild’ creature…

“… don’t bite me, JW – I’m your friend… friends don’t bite each-other…”

… the albino-pet lay-docile on his lap… and the black-metal hand was holding its paw while Peter clipped its-claws, and storytelling…

“… hahaha… have I told you ‘how’ Rottnest Island got-its-name…? According to Wiki… some-explorer Dutchie from the 1600’s came Downunder to the island…the Dutchie then went bat-shit-crazy when he ‘SAW’ YOUR-ANCESTORS – and believed you were all-giant-rats running about in the island, hahaha… thus, he ‘named’ that place ‘Rat-Nest Island’…

“… but-JW, you’re different kindda-rat – YOU’VE ‘EVOLVED’ – and you’re ‘my’ lucky-charm…”

<><>

IN HIS WINDOWLESS-BEDROOM, Paul was dressing-up into his Sunday best because his-mom told him to do-so…

It used to be his churchgoing attire… but since recently, the Walker-household has ‘not’ been attending St Michaels’ Sunday-morning Mass FOR 4-WEEKS – for their-safety reasons since the zombie-epidemic in the city…

… but FOR 4-SUNDAY NIGHT, Paul had been dressing-up in his-best – for-Principal Harris’ dinner-visits – when Caroline was on her-day off…

-O-

At 6:46 PM, Paul wheelchaired from his-room to the kitchen… and saw an open-bottle of red wine on the marble-top counter. He went to the living-room…

… his mother’s strong perfume hit his nostril-before he could see her in the room… who was holding a glass-of-wine and looking-out of the window… she nodded when she saw Paul…

… he noticed his mother had bought a ‘new’ dress that was navy-blue in colour – and she looked elegant in it… her ‘body language’ was of her-attraction to Tom Harris… his-school principal…

Paul chucked to himself – that-the entire Walker-household in post-Treeton were… in their ‘DATING’ PHASES’ – where even-his mother was seeing her ‘first’ suitor… since his-dad died 3-years ago…

‘… go for it, Mom – cos’ you’re still young-and-attractive… I’m all behind your-happiness if you ‘love’ Principal Harris – BUT IF-EVER my-twin opposes it… and create any natural-disaster like of the ‘other-Perth’ – then-sorry… I’ve to ‘put’ him down, Mom…’

“What’s for dinner, Mom…?”

“… I don’t know… Tom is ‘buying’ – he told me that it’s a ‘surprise-treat’ for us-all…” Caroline chuckled…

“What surprise-treat…?”

“… wait-and-see, Poe… your-Principal Harris is ‘full’ of surprises…”

… Caroline laughed in delight, drinking-wine as she thought of her-beau…

For the past 3-Sunday-nights, Paul had his-Thai, Italian and Vietnamese food – and the hungry ‘foodie’ was wondering ‘what’ the ‘surprise-treat’ was later-tonight…

… he ‘was ‘craving’ for some-spicy Indian food… in the cooling weather…

Caroline then looked at her watch… and yelled-out…

“Peter, are you coming down – it’s already 7 o’clock!!?”

Paul looked at the wall-clock – it was ‘only’ 6:54 PM

-O-

At around 7:07 PM, there were activities at the front-gate of the Walker-house – his eager mother hurried outdoor-to welcome Principal Harris who arrived dressed-up smartly in a suit and carrying a bottle-of-wine…

Outside the window of the living-room, Paul saw Tom-and-Carol hugging-and-kissing in the dark-garden… then a catering van stopped…

His-principal and his-mother were holding hands, as they spoke to the men from-the-van… before the couple led them to the front-door…

Paul greeted his-principal – and his twin was ‘not’ down with-him when Tom ‘asked’ him. The wheelchaired-tween saw 2 staff pushing a metal-cabinet food-warmer that was-on-wheels…

‘… ‘what’ food is in the ‘rolling’ hot-box…?’

He saw both the men were from ‘well-known’ catering establishment as they were well-groomed-in white long-sleeved shirt and black-pants. They parked the food-warmer at the main-door – and were carrying aluminium-foiled covered hot-metal saving-dishes to the kitchen…

‘…what ‘dishes’ are those…? What catering company is this…?’

He squinted at the parked-van from the window – it was dark-outside… as he read:

John Blake Country Club Catering

‘…WOW! We’re having ‘fine-dining’ tonight… there ‘goes’ my diet…’

Even the van-driver too was part of the service… as he too was attired in black-and-white but short-sleeved shirt – and was carrying a plastic-box container with linen, plates-and-cutleries. The man covered their-IKEA with white table-cloth before arranging the plates-and-cutleries for a setting of a table-for-4…

Paul heard Caroline exclaiming in delight with her beau’s ‘surprise’ dinner treat– while Paul was joshed-the thought that his-principal ‘had’ spent a fortune to woo his-mom… by catering their ‘date-dinner’ food from the prestigious country-club…

… Paul-too left the living-room and-rolled to the dining-table – as the-foodie was ‘curious’ to know his-dinner-menu…

He saw Tom-and-Carol were having wine looking on the club-catering staff were on-their clockwork routine of setting up the food on the IKEA table in the Walker’s chinaware. Caroline kissed Tom in gratitude…

The moment he saw the Wellington Roast beef that he ‘loved’ – Paul felt his ‘foodie-soul’ had left-his-body to go to heaven – THE LAST TIME he ate those was when he was ‘invited’ to the country-club for the prize-giving dinner where the ex-international Mr-and-Mrs Duncan beat the PFC’s Peter-and-Jane in a mixed-double match, in the other-Perth…

… Paul loved roasted-and-grilled meat – the fact that Australia had the best beef in the world had made him sadder… that ‘no’ one was there to prepare that ‘menu’ at home… as his mom was vegan.

He missed the days, when his-dad was ‘alive’ – who used to BBQ in the backyard during Christmas-and-Easters where rellos arrive with his-cousins… and they had ‘eating-contest’ among the kids while… the adults got-drunk and be-merry…

… but ever since their father ‘died’ – none of the relatives visited them any-more ‘nor’ be-invited-over…

Paul was impressed WITH THE REST of Principal Harris’ choices of the surprise-treats –with the prix-fixe appetizers of mouth-watering beef-carpaccio and bacon-wrap-scallops… the main-course of Osso-Buco and the dessert of Shepard-pies – they have ice-cream too… made of Amaretto-liqueur that gave a nutty-flavour…

… the principal had-opt to go vegan for the evening like his-mom and – had a separate vegetarian-dishes made for the evening… which hungry-Paul ‘can’t’ recall what those were… as he was a meat-eater, ‘not’ an herbivore.

-O-

At 7:25, the caterers left ‘after’ setting-up the gourmet-cuisine on the dressed-up IKEA-table – the famished-Paul was ever-ready to ‘dig-in’… but Peter was ‘NOT’ THERE…

“Peter! Where are you? Come-down now…!” Caroline at the table yelled…

… but ‘no’ response – then-after the 3RD LOUD-CALLING of the inspector-mother while the-principal and the twin-brother waited patiently at the table…

… a weak-voice was heard-responding…

“…coming, mom…”

A moment later Peter made his ‘grand’ entrance coming-down the stairs… but shabbily-dressed in his shorts-and-old faded t-shirt…

“… mom… I’m ‘not’ feeling-well…”

“… Peter, what’s wrong…?” Caroline said in a concerned-tone…

From his-wheelchair, Paul rolled his-eyes…

‘… you-devil…!!! What’s it this-time of your ‘pretending’…? Trying to get Mom’s attention-and-affection at the dinner-table in front of your principal, innit…?’

Paul saw his-twin walking over to their-mother who was seated at the table…

“… mon, I’m sick… and my head hurts-awful a lot…”

… their-mother placed her-palm on Peter’s forehead… a universal-method of motherhood – on temperature-check-to-their-children…

“… it’s normal…” Caroline diagnosed…

“… but my head-hurts, Mom… gimme Ibuprofen…”

“No, you eat first… taking medication on an empty-stomach will give you ulcer…”

“… I’m ‘not’ hungry, mom… my body is weak… I’m sick…” Peter whimpered…

At the table, Paul scoffed quietly…

‘… stop-with ‘pretending’ you bloody-devil… if you caught a flu, I’ll ‘know’ it – cos’ you’re my bloody-twin… you’re just creating a bloody ‘nonsense-drama’ here to ‘sabo’ our-Sunday dinner-evening…’

…or was-it…? Paul thought-of…

… Peter’s ‘history’ of drugs-and-opioid abuse in the other’ Perth-realms… and he ‘drank’ a lot too…

‘… is the devil ‘having’ a hangover…? Did Jane’s ‘DRINKING’ OVER-there… gave him a cosmic-hangover over-here…? And, it ‘looks ‘like’ it…’

“Peter, sit-and-eat!” The inspector-mother ordered… feeling ‘embarrassed’ of her elder-son misbehaving ‘in-front’ of his headmaster…

“… no-Mom… if I eat… I’ll throw-up… just give me my-Ibuprofen…”

“NO-PETER! Sit-now and eat!!!” His mother shouted at him…

… the whining-softly dragged his feet to ‘his’ chair – realizing that Tom-Harris was ‘sitting’ at his ‘father’s chair, that evening on the table… he ‘wanted’ to ask his-principle to scoot-over to the other chair – but he saw his mother was starring-daggers at him…

… Peter sat on his old-chair of 3 years-ago… his pre-BMW-crash seat…

Caroline then spoke…

“… Finally, we all-here… I’d like to thank Tom… Principal Harris… for the feast, we’re about to have… let invite him to lead the table by saying ‘grace’ this evening before we-eat…”

Peter ‘intimidated’ his principal by clasping the man’s hand with his-metal robotic hand. They-held hands around-the-table – before Tom Harris told the-prayer…

… ‘saying-grace was Paul’s duty in the Walkers’ dinner-dynamic of the table, that he had been ‘saying-grace’ since he was-6 when Solomon ‘was’ alive – Paul was ‘keenly’ listening to his-principal while holding the man’s other-hand – who was the ‘first’ Protestant guest to say-grace in the Walker’s Catholic dinner-table…

It was a short-and-brief prayer done ‘under’ 15-seconds – and the Walker-household then ate with their guest, Principal Harris…

For the next 3-minutes, the table for-4 was quiet… as the adults had-ran out of topics of table conversation after 3-Sunday invite-dinners – but Tom-and-Carol sneaked-smiles to each-other while the 2-tweens ate…

The mother noticed Paul was eating-fast in pace for a fine-dining setting and she ‘let’ him enjoy his surprise-treat – where-else, Peter was ‘not’ eating… ‘wasting’ the good food…

Caroline then spoke…

“… Tom, next month in June, my Gemini-twins are celebrating their 13th birthday… they would-be teenagers… ‘no-longer’ tweens LIKE THEY’RE ‘NOW’ – they should be ‘more’ responsible in their lives from now-onwards…

“… they-too would RECEIVE THE SACRAMENT of ‘Confirmation’ in church – and should-behave like 2-Christian young-men too…”

Principal Harris responded…

“… yes, Carol… we should let them have A ‘BIG’ BIRTHDAY PARTY-BASH… invite their friends-and-classmates over to celebrate the boys’ coming-of-age…!”

Upon ‘hearing’ what Principal Harris had said – Paul noticed his ‘sick’ twin who sat-slouched during the entire meal – miraculously had transformed into a straightened-spined mop-broom filled with enthusiasms…

… even his voice was ‘no’ longer whispers – but high-pitched…

“Can I, Mom…? Can I celebrate my 13th birthday with my friends over…? It has been 3 years since Dad-died – we always have ‘closed-door’ birthday parties those-3-years… with my Nike-shoes birthday-present every-year…

“… I want this year to BE DIFFERENT, Mom! I want to ‘celebrate’ WITH MY FRIENDS and-mates coming over… or I would be be-seen as a ‘loser’ once I graduate from school… don’t you think-so, Principal Harris…?”

Paul then-scoffed…

‘… your crimey-friends that YOU ‘INVITED’ days-ago into the house ‘when’ mom was at work… that son of wheelchaired-Kiperman and his-friend… the ‘stranger’ I don’t ‘know’ who-his name-was… and with your girlfriend… you and ‘those’ strangers – ‘DID’ SOMETHING ‘UPSTAIRS that shook the whole walls of the house down… that left more-cracks in the kitchen walls…

‘… are you going TO ‘INVITE’ THEM too…?

‘… too-bad for ‘me’ too… her doctor-mom won’t LET JANE COME to my-birthday party, for sure…’

“We’ll see about it, Peter…” Caroline replied nonchalantly and went about eating her garden salad…

“Come-on Mom, why’ can’t my friends come…? Principal Harris, ‘talk’ to my mom… why can’t my classmates come to my-party…?”

“… err… your mom ‘knows’ best…” The principal responded…

“What you fellers want for birthday prezzies…? I’m allocating $100-each for whatever things you want this year…” Caroline asked her twin sons…

“Only $100!!? That is ‘last’ year’s budget… and the year before-too… where it only’ buys-me-shoes… I’m a going to be a teenager – can you increase the budget this year…please-Mom…?”

“NO! That ‘what’ I can afford… you ‘work’ your way-through it…” Caroline was firm…

The mother looking at her younger-son – who was the quiet-one at the table-for-4… and had ‘polished’ his beef Osso Buco to-its-bone… still scrapping it with his dinner-knife, ‘like’ there was imaginary-meat stuck to-it…

“Poe, what do you ‘want’ for your-birthday gift…?” She asked…

“… huh-me…? Mom, you have ‘already’ got me my birthday-gift… you got me my dog, Kitty… there is ‘nothing’ I want more…”

Peter scoffed…

“That dog ‘should’ go – before it stinks-up ‘my’ entire father’s house and we’ll have later major-sanitation-problem! WHY SHOULD an inspector of Perth’s house need a guard-dog – and ‘what’ the neighbours think… that you’re a ‘weak-wussy’ police-inspector in Perth who is ‘not’ fierce-and-intimidating enough that need a dingo to be the guard-dog in the house you live, innit, Mom…!!?”

Everyone on the table was perplexed at Peter’s ‘no’ sense nonsense that he uttered…

“THE DOG STAYS!” Caroline was firm-again…

… Paul did ‘not’ argue because his headmaster was at the table… but he was figuring-out – the growing-animosity his twin-had on him ever-since HE ‘ADOPTED’ Kitty…

‘… maybe dogs-too don’t like the-bloody-devil… even in the other-Perth, his-Janey’s dog, ‘Piper’ WAS HATED by Peter… when it got ‘more-famous’ than the devil’s PFC-campaign in social-media there…’

Peter was still ‘not’ satisfied…

“Mom, do you know you’re wasting $100 a-month feeding that 4-legged flea-bag – which the grand-total comes to 12-hundred-dollars a year… and here you are acting as a ‘stingy-poker’ – cutting-corners on my teenager ‘coming-of-age’ prezzie…!!!”

“What do you ‘want’ for your birthday, Peter…?” Harris who was ‘observing’ the ‘disputing-family-drama’ finally asked…

“I WANT A ‘new’ racquet – and I’m eyeing for the latest Babolat Aero-Rafa™ sold @Tennis Warehouse Australia that is going for a discount of $380!”

“WHAT!!! $400 for a racquet…? We can’t ‘afford’ it… and ‘why’ you need it in the first place, when you ‘own’ many racquets in the room…?”

“After 3-years, I’m finally on a ‘good-luck-streak,’ Mom! I got my robotic-cyborg arm that-I ‘want’ to hold the Aero-Rafa… as I want to make a GRAND COMEBACK in the next term playing the school’s Singles and Mixed-Doubles… and winning ‘every’ tournament back-again…!

“… and furthermore, I had excelled IN STUDIES-TOO since I got my AI-learning-device… I’m in the ‘middle’ of the class ‘now’ – you watch-this-space… ‘next’ term, I’ll be Top-5…!

“… so, Mom… I’ve ‘delivered’ the goods – I ‘expect’ you to REWARD-ME NOW… by ‘buying-me’ the Aero-Rafa…and that’s final…!”

“NO! I CAN’T afford it!!!”

Everyone saw Peter standing-up fast at the table – AS HE POINTED his metal-finger at Caroline… lecturing…

“… REMOVE CAN’T from your ‘mediocre’ vocab, Mom! YOU ‘CAN’ AFFORD IT – if you’re ‘more’ ambitious and be ‘hungry-like-a-wolf’ for job-promotions – like solving-and-closing ‘high-profile-cases’ like the Zombie-Epidemic feat. Nigeria-Hajji Bambaataa…

…and for Christ-sake, ‘start studying-and-take your Detective-exams… how ‘long’ are you going to-be a mere-inspector… Be-Ambitious-and-Upgrade, will-ya-Mom or-else… they might ‘demote’ you – to be a desk-sergeant at the station…!!!”

Everyone at the table saw Caroline blushing in-embarrassment – which her-complexion was darker from-of her-wine-drinking… with her jaw-dropped… before getting her-voice-back…

“… how-dare you ‘talk’ like-that to-me, you ungrateful son – now, shut-up and sit-down and eat your-food!!!”

“No-Mom, I’m ‘not’ going to ‘sit-with’ MY-LOSER-FAMILY… in-pain with you-2 ‘mediocre’ under-achievers of my ‘own’ flesh-and-blood…

“… no’ offence-here, Principal Harris… thanks-for the food… but I’m ‘not’ well and I’m seriously sick – excuse-me, I wish to go my room…good-night…”

Peter left the table – with Caroline shouting at him… the boy-with-the metal arm raced upstairs…

“Peter! Come back-here!!!”

Even Paul was annoyed with Peter ‘disrespecting’ their mother – but he was into his savoury Shepherd-pie desert… and ‘eyeing-too’ on his-twin’s ‘share’ since he ‘left’ the table…

“… let him go, Carol… he’s ‘not’ feeling well…” Harris said, as his hand held to-hers across the IKEA-table…

“… he’s so-egoistic and arrogant like his father… I’m so-very sorry, Tom – for-you’ve to see this hoo-haa tonight…” Caroline apologized…

“… no-worries – my-son-Billy too was like ‘that’ at his-age… ‘always’ in his-teen rebel-streak…” The divorcee chuckled…

-O-

The annoyed Peter ran to his room when he opened the door – he was shocked when he saw the albino-joey HAD ‘GROWN’ to be a full adult Quokka…

“…holy-mule-that-Jesus-rode – JW, WHAT HAPPENED to ‘you’…!!?”

The smiling-Quokka was delighted to see its-master – and the long-tailed white-bunny-like critter hopped to Peter…

The rapt tween picked Joey-Walker with his metal hand to examine his pet…

“… wow… you ‘weight’ like a dumb-bell, hahaha… Dad’s SPELLS WORKED, JW – ‘look’ at you… it worked…!!!”

Stroking his pet, Peter walked to his desk and sat…

“… you hungry, my dear-boy…? I bet you ‘are’ – Daddy, got treats for you… whole-lotta Surprise-treats, yea…”

In the pockets of his short-pants he had hid garlic-bread at the dinner-table to feed his pet… Peter placed the white-Quokka on the desk and gave the bread – the albino wallaby gladly received it with its T-Rex-like short-arms and ate…

“Eat, my-boy… we have ‘much-more’ spells TO LEARN from Dad’s ‘Good Luck journal, yea-you-my Lucky-Charm… we’re going to Rule-Perth soon, hahaha…!”

-O-

Meanwhile, downstairs they were having ice-cream for desert at the IKEA-table. Paul was quiet and listening to the 2 adults on the table, discussing about his rebellious-twin…

… Caroline dissed Tom’s suggestion of using the SHS’ sport-allocated budget to ‘buy’ the Babolat-racquet for Peter – as the mother told Tom ‘not’ to encourage the youth by giving-in to his demands…

Paul thought…

‘…whoa, Principal Harris…you’re going way-out of-the-way to woo my mother-here – that you’re even-willing to ‘use’ the school’s-funds TO ‘BUY’ the devil the racquet…

‘… no…you don’t ‘know’ the devil AS I DO – he’s a master-deceiver and a great Oscar-worthy actor…’

-O-

It was after 9 PM, the dinner-session was over with Tom-and-Carol had finished the bottle of Merlot. Caroline and Paul thanked the principal for the ‘wonderful’ food and ‘delightful’ evening he had brought to the Walkers’ table…

On his wheelchair, Paul saw his-principal bid his farewell-and-good-night… his-mother opened the front-door and accompanied the visitor to his-car leaving Paul at the IKEA table, full of dirty-plates…

… Paul saw Peter’s plate of half-eaten Osso-Buco…

‘… ooo-what a waste to good-meat… mom is going to dispose it… what a pity…’

He thought of Kitty…

Paul grabbed the plate and wheelchaired-away to the kitchen backdoor – he opened it and the cripple-tween then levitated in the dark to Kitty’s bowl and dumped the chunk of gravied-veal in it…

…his dog was delighted to see its master and barked-once…

“Shush-Kitty… here is your share of Principal-Harris’ ‘surprise-treat’ – Mom would kill-me if she found-out I gave you this… you’re supposed to eat dried-dog food but it’s ‘cheat-night’ tonight – I ‘let’ you eat it to satisfy your animal-instinct to the ‘actual’ meat vs. ‘processed’ meat in dried-form…

“… my theory is that…

“… my WW2 veteran peepaw had an ol’ dog named Bullet – and he ate peepaw’s table-scrap and lived-long… even outlived peepaw himself…

“… I gotta go, Kitty… before Mom ‘catches’ me… I love you-girl…”

He kissed the dog’s head and flew-back to his wheelchair. Paul locked the backdoor and heard his-dog gnawing-on the veal-bone in the dark…

… he noticed Caroline was still outside the-house… and decided to clear the ‘dirty-plates’ into the kitchen sink. He scrapped every food-waste of dishes into a large plate to-be dispose of – and, since his mom was ‘not’ there he levitated 3-times to the kitchen to place the plates in the sink… for his-mother to wash-later…

… being careful to ‘not’ – ‘breaking’ Mom’s chinaware… bought by his late-Dad…

-O-

Paul landed in his wheelchair – before his mother ‘freaked-out’ of his superhero’s ability of levitating…but his-mother was ‘not’ back yet – he wheelchaired to the living-room to peek-out the window…

… he saw Tom-and-Carol kissing IN THE DARK…

…Paul ‘felt’ uncomfortable that his school principal was smooching-caressing-and-necking his-mom at the front-gate – and, the cripple-son looked-away…

A brief moment-later, Paul heard the car’s ignition – Paul wheelchaired to the window to see Caroline waving to Principal Harris who drove away in a black Bentley Continental GT…

‘… how many cars does Harris drive…? Does he ‘not’ own a Mercedes…? I remember him driving Ms King’s ol’ green-Volvo too, when he delivered the Marciano-pizzas during the curfew-lockdown…’

Paul’s reveries-poofed ‘when’ Caroline entered the front-door… Paul ‘greeted’ her with an awkward-grin – his mother said…

“… what…?”

“… nothing…”

The mother felt ‘guilty’ that her-son had ‘known’ about – the osculating that occurred a moment-ago in the state-of-drunkenness – and she too grinned back in embarrassment to her-younger son…

“Mom, do you ‘love’ him…?”

… Caroline hesitated before nodding and grinned-even more…

“… if he makes you ‘happy,’ Mom – I’m all for it… cos’ I ‘want’ you to-be-happy…”

… Caroline went-over to the wheelchair – and hugged-and-kissed Paul’s cheeks, saying…

“We ‘all’ will be-happy…”

-O-

The Bentley drove in the lonely and dark road…

Thomas Harris drove in the car’s cabin. HE SWITCHED-ON the stereo to his-personal-listening ‘selections’ of his iPod…

… an-ancient Sumerian chants played in the speakers…

The principal recited THE SPELLS as he drove…

… he looked AT ‘HIMSELF’ on the RVM-mirror…

… as he ‘SHAPESHIFTED’…

He was ‘now’ TOPHETH JARED WILFORD…

… the Grand-wizard of the MOLOCH-CULT.