Lane grinned as she watched her daughter complete the 100 yard dash in first place. All the other Special Olympics kids were left behind in the dust. That was all right; her daughter Mila had “mild OCD” along with a few other so-called “mental deficiency” diagnoses that these kids had. It took a lot of money and persuasion to get doctors to sign off that she had mental issues. But it was so well worth it.
Mila walked over to her mother. She wasn’t even sweating; she didn’t even have to exert herself against these kids. Lane ignored the looks from all the other parents. All Mila had to do was complete the third leg of the triathalon and then she would set a new Special Olympics record for being the first girl since the inception that could take eight out of ten competitions.
Mila said quietly, “Those retards didn’t know what hit ’em,” and then she looked back at the kids who were either confused or angry. “Stupid fucks. Why do I even bother?”
“A thousand dollars, dear, that’s why,” said Lane. Not that she really needed the money; she pulled the wool over the eyes of some reporter from WSPDR with a special interest bent, and told all about how hard it was to be a single mother to someone with MR. She didn’t mention that Mila had a very mild case, nor did she mention the live-in boyfriend. But two days after the interview she received a pre-paid Visa card with $25,000 on it.
First, she got a converible. White import, fast, and very sweet. She got a better apartment uptown, with a bell boy and everything. Her daughter still went to the retard school, easily surpassing them. Stupid fucks, indeed.
Mila easily took the last of the triathalon, got her gold medal and name in the record books. The parents normallly had a celebration at the Hungry Dragon with all the particpants, but no one invited them. Lane was going to go anyway.
Lane and Mila headed to the car, parked in a field with the rest of the participants’. Of course she was in the handicapped spot, since she did have a license for that. She saw a blond man leaning casually against her car, right at the driver’s side door. She unlocked the door from a distance, and then stood a few feet away from the man. “Get away from my car,” she said.
He looked up, very casual. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll call security.”
He didn’t do anything other than look at her as he said, “So I see you spent the money well from that anonymous donor.”
Lane gaped at him How did he know that? She didn’t tell anyone she got it.
“I see also how you’ve taken advantage of the system.” He motioned to Mila. “She doesn’t seem to be as bad off as you made her out to be.”
Lane pulled out her cell phone. “Get away from my car or I swear to God…”
The man reached behind him with his left hand and pulled something from the area where the windshield wipers were stuck under the hood. He brought his hand forward and in it was a policeman’s billy club. Lane flipped open the phone and the man moved, hitting her hand and knocking the phone out of it.
The pain was incredible, and she screamed. Mila yelled, “Hey!” and turned to the man. She took one step forward, and then Lane heard a hard crack of wood on bone. Mila crumpled to the ground at Lane’s feet, as if she could no longer support herself. Her eyes were wide, staring up at her mother, uncomprehending.
“Now,” said the blond man, “She’s retarded.”
Lane stared at her daughter, then at the man. “What did you do to her?!”
He looked at her, thoughtfully. Then he raised the club and slammed it hard into her face. Even Lane could see the bridge of her nose collapse, and the girl lay there, blood flowing from her nose like a river.
Lane screamed, and the man hit her head-on into the windpipe. The scream turned into a gurgle, and she fought for breath. She put her arms around her throat and backed up, but she had nothing to back into so she fell backwards to the ground. As she gasped, the blond man took her purse and rummaged in it, taking her wallet and the $1000 check from the Special Olympics. He gazed at it for a moment, then tore it up into tiny pieces.
He turned from the two and looked at the car. He flipped his billy club up and down, getting blood on his hand, looking like he was casually deciding something. He looked back at the woman, who was now still. He was sure someone saw him, but, then, this was the Isles…
Flipping his billy club and whistling tunelessly, he walked away.
Words: 824
Comment: Knowing someone who did such a thing, that their daughter has “mild MR” and was entered into the Special Olympics, easily winning a few of the competitions. Also, what would Casey do if the money he gave away was misused?