They Have Eyes, Part V (2051.01)

[woods]

< Part IV

Paula Karttunen would have never dreamed she’d be going to America.

Coming from a working-class family in Hungary, America was the land she only ever saw in movies and TV. It was where Disneyland, Gotham City and the Dunder Mifflin offices were, though she wasn’t sure how many of those places were real. America itself might as well have been fictional as far as she was concerned, since it was too fantastical a place to ever actually visit.

Then Paula got married and had her son Markko. Her husband died when Markko was six years old, leaving her on her own to support their son, so she did her best to follow his interests, including sports. He liked an American sport called “baseball,” which she had also seen in movies. The sport was gaining popularity in Eastern Europe, thanks to the christening of a league called the UMEBA in the late ‘30s. She occasionally drove him 10 hours to see his favorite team, the Bucharest Impalers, a name which she thought was utterly obscene, but tolerated anyway to humor her son.

Markko also started playing baseball, and took to it quite well. By his teenage years, he was on track to pursue a career as a pitcher. He went undrafted by the UMEBA in 2044, which may have been a blessing in disguise, since it opened him up to offers from BBA teams. The Boise Spuds saw his potential, and signed him to a minor league deal with a $99,000 bonus.

This was enough money for Markko to ensure his mother lived very well in Hungary, but he promised he would move her out to America as soon as he got a big league paycheck.

That happened in 2050, when the Spuds added Markko to their 40-man roster. Though he wasn’t actually playing in the big leagues yet, his salary doubled overnight from what he made as a minor leaguer. So he called his mom and told her, pack your things, we’re moving to America.

Something else happened to Markko in 2050, too. He underwent a type of medical procedure, but Paula was pretty unclear on the details of it. All she knew was what her son had told her, that it was ordered by the Spuds organization, and that it would “make him a better pitcher”.

That sounded suspicious, so Paula did some research on experimental treatments for pitchers. She dug up a lot of info on a German scientist named Kocherschmeltz, who was known for his unorthodox surgeries. She didn’t want anything like that for her son, so she tried to convince him to refuse, but he only replied with “I have to do it,” and things like “it’s already been posted to the forums,” whatever that meant. There was nothing she could do to stop it, so the surgery went forward.

In the intervening months, she watched on TV from Hungary and saw her son develop nicely into a starting pitcher. He was sporting an all-new forkball, which was nice. But when the two spoke over the phone, she noticed he was more distant, disinterested. It’s all part of growing up, sure, but she felt it was something else. It was as if his personality changed and he was an entirely different person.

Paula was certain it was a side effect of the surgery. Something they did to him that day had changed him.

Her plane landed in Boston, which is where Markko had arranged an apartment for her. He was meeting her at the airport today to show her around the city and help her get settled into her new home. It was right up the road from where he played Double-A ball, so he would be able to visit all the time. It was a dream come true for Paula to be united with her son again.

He wasn’t there when she exited the gate.

She found this curious, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been late for something, so she gave him a few minutes. She checked her phone a couple times — no messages.

After 15 minutes, she walked outside to the taxi drop-off area, thinking maybe he was waiting there. Two men in black suits approached her, one smaller, and another with a lot more muscle.

“Mrs. Karttunen?” the smaller of them asked.

“Yes?” she responded.

“It’s her,” the man said quietly into a communication device clipped to his lapel.

“Sorry, who are you-,“ Paula started to ask, but was cut off when the other man reached into a duffel bag, pulled out a pineapple, and hit her over the head with it. She fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

The pineapple-slinging thug said nothing, just began gathering the old lady up to carry her to the car.

The first man stood and watched, shaking his head. “Sorry, but you know too much,” he said to the unconscious woman. Then he spoke into his device again. “Tell the boss we’ve got her,” he said.


Part VI >>

[CTBrewCrew]

The god damn butcher from under the bleachers rears his head again…

[shoeless.db]

“I have to do it,” and things like “it’s already been posted to the forums,”

This was a work of genius.

I've always been fond of pineapples. Tremendous on pizzas.

[WestCoastStros]

Glad for the delayed comment that helped me stumble on this, absolute brilliance!