Broken Rules

Thinking about character development, I am reminded of a short story I wrote several years ago entitled "Broken Rules." The main character of the story, a little girl named Courtney, remains one of my favorite characters from one of my short stories. The story placed 54th in the Genre category of the 74th Annual Writer's Digest Writing Competition (2005). As there were over 18,000 entries for all catagories, I figured the story had some merit. Some time later, I attempted to improve the story by adding scenes. Those scenes are indicated below by a symbol (***) before and after the inserted scene.


Broken Rules


Chester Lewis adjusted his bow tie and peered through his wire-rimmed glasses at the dead cat in the litle girl's arms as if her request had been perfectly natural. He took the penlight from his pocket, bounced the beam off the lifeless eyes, and then listened to the silent chest before sitting back to make his pronouncement. "I'm sorry, Courtney, but Hippocrates is dead."
"And you can't fix him, Doctor Lewis?" Courtney asked, wide-eyed, her voice rising to an incredibly high pitch.
Chester sighed. "I'm sorry, child, but there are some rules that can't be broken." He got up and shuffled to his closet. He pulled a small wooden box from the shelf, dumped the contents onto his desk, and handed it to her. "Put Hippocrates in this, seal it up tight, and take it to Mr. Porter at the mortuary. He'll be happy to help you. Mind you, though, he's sure to be quite busy. There's going to be a funeral this afternoon."
Courtney nodded solemnly. "Joshua. Mama says he did himself in."
Chester frowned. How could a child of six be so informed all the time about matters that were kept from most adults? He'd have to talk with Mrs. Burgess about the things she said to her daughter. "You just concern yourself with your cat, young lady. Now run along."
He pushed her gently out the door and watched her skip down the narrow lane, the wooden box tucked under her arm, until she turned the corner out of sight.
Chester rubbed the back of his neck. He was too old and too tired to continue with his duties, but he couldn't find a replacement. He didn't blame all the new young physicians. Who wants to be the solitary doctor in an isolated town? So many long hours, so much work, so much responisbility. And then there was that one side-effect that he'd put such a wonderful spin on. "You get to know everyone in town. You truly know your patients. It makes practicing medicine personal." Of course, he didn't tell any of the candidates that the majority of people in this town were, in his medical opinion, insane.
Chester thought about Joshua Blake and sighed again. He remembered the day that boy was born. Thirteen hours of hard work for seven pounds of blue-faced, tight-fisted, angry screams. Still, he'd been adorable once he'd settled down and Muriel held him to her breast.
Chester smiled at the memory. He remembered the birth of nearly every denizen of this community. He'd mended nearly every broken arm, injected virtually every shot, and attended practically every family event. He was the town doctor, after all.
Cester stepped over to the door and turned the sign so that it would read "closed." He needed some time to prepare himself. Like anyone else, he preferred well visits to flu epidemics, cast removals to broken arms, laughter to tears, and births to funerals. But he had a responsibility to his patients that was more than any city doctor could ever comprehend.
Chester puled Joshua Blake's file from the cabinet and asked aloud, "What went wrong, Joshua?"


***Courtney had many things to do today, but at the top on her list was a visit to Milepost 66. She'd been there once before, with Joshua.
"See how the dirt road ends?" Joshua had asked.
Courtney had stared at the road, frowning at the strange black dirt that was as hard as rock and covered the entire width of the road. She gazed down it as far as possible. "What is that rock? Or is it special dirt?"
"It's called macadam. Listen, Courtney. There are sixty-six miles between here and the next town. Same's true to the east, north, and south. Main Street ends on all sides of town and becomes these strange roads."
Courtney bent over to touch the odd, flat black surface.
Joshua jerked her back, his long fingers digging painfully into her shoulder. "Don't, Courtney." He let go, glancing quickly behind them toward town. He grunted and then turned to gaze down the long black stretch. He sighed. "Sixty-six miles is just too far."
"I'm a good walker, Joshua. I walk everywhere, all over town. You know I can walk lots."
Joshua shook his head. "I've already tried, Courtney. They find you. They catch you. You can't run away."
Courtney pulled down her eyebrows as she stared at him. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to wait for them, but you--"
"Joshua! You can't just--"
"YOU are going to do everything you can to follow their dumb rules. Promise me Courtney."
Wiping her cheek where she remembered Joshua's spittle had landed that day, she kicked at the macadam. She had promised. She would follow their dumb rules. But there was no rule about coming out as far as the milepost. She'd checked.
Courtney walked over to the tall, wooden stake. Long ago, someone had painted the wood white and the letters black. The white had faded into gray and the black into gunmetal, slowly bleeding into the wood. Courtney shivered.
Rubbing her arms, she stepped toward the peculiar strips of yellow that divided the flat, black road. She pushed the rubber toes of her shoes againt them, the rest of her feet planted firmly on the dirt road. Slowly, she lifted her left foot placing it on the black surface. Quickly, she snapped it back and looked behind her toward town.
Courtney shaded her eyes, peering down the black road to where it dissapated into the mist that forever draped the mountains. Sighing, she crossed the road back to the post, picked up her wooden box, and then traced the black letters grooved into the wood. "I promise, Joshua." ***


Courtney dropped her box on the counter in front of Mrs. Randolph. It made a satisfying thud, and a little smile played about her lips.
"What's this, a secret treasure?" Alma Randolph inquired, a smile fiddled at her own mouth.
Courtney shrugged. "Sort of. Got any books on prayers for the dead?"
Alma lifted her eyebrows. "There's a nice book of children's prayers on that shelf right over there, honey."
Courtney glanced sideways in the direction Mrs. Randolph indicated. "They'll be corny like graces, or all sappy. I need something to say over the dead body of someone who's been bad."
Alma stared blankly at the little girl. She was probably the most precocious child that had ever come into the town library. Of course, Joshua Blake had been quite the character at that age, too.
Alma sighed. She had seen so many children come and go in and out of that library over the years, but Joshua had always stood out. Long ago, when he was not quite the size of this angel-faced pixie before her, Alma had called him Sad-Sack. His mother, Muriel, that poor woman, had faithfully dragged him in every morning for the toddler reading hour. There he would sit in the little green chair upon his hands as if he couldn't trust them to stay out of mischief. Sure enough, as soon as the story had been read and the cookies and punch presented, those tiny fingers would find their way into verboten nooks and forbidden crannies. There was always a cry, a crash, and a slap. And then, there were those sad round eyes staring up at her accusingly.
Feeling a strange tightness in her throat, Alma said, "Surely, Courtney, none of your little dolls has misbehaved so badly."
Courtney tucked her chin down and glared up at Alma Randolph through lowered brows. Her little tongue quickly swept her lips. Her voice was slightly raised. "No. I'm too old for dolls. It's Hippocrates. He didn't follow the rules and now he's dead."
"Oh. I see." Alma glanced around at the books in the children's wing, searching for a book that might satisfy the child. Her gaze came to rest on the tabletop model of the pharmaceutical plant. Mr. Lord, the CEO, had delivered the model himself with great fanfare and publicity. Alma reflected on the actual building located at the other end of town, and the corporation it housed-- the one that employd nearly every adult in town, influenced every political decision, established every rule of law, affected every baby born, owned each soul.
Alma blinked, swallowed, and then shook her head. "Perhpas you should speak to the main librarian, Mrs. Lord."
Courtney leaned over to look down the hall that led to the main library. She pushed her lips together into a thin line, and then outward into a small, tight, pink rosebud. "She doesn't like me," she pronounced.
Pressing her own lips into a thin line, Alma tipped back her head.
With a dramatic sigh, Courtney removed her wooden box from the counter and tucked it neatly under her arm. She lifted her little chin and tramped smartly toward the main library, her tiny face pinched, eyes focused straight ahead.
Alma watched her go. Over the years, she had witnessed many children walk along that hallway. Some traipsed, some plodded, some strolled. Few marched.
Joshua Blake had learned to march. He'd been a prankster, a rascal, and a rogue. He'd also been a loner. The other children had teased him, mocked him, lied to him. He had learned to strike back, stand up, fabricate. He could look her straight in the eye and deny what he knew she had just seen him do, and he'd do it with a lifted chin, a defiant glare.
Shuddering, Alma rubbed her arms. She worked to keep the tears from her eyes. "Why, Joshua? Why did you do it?"


Cecilia Wolcott kept silent vigil at her window. She nibbled at her thumbnail and pulled at a strand of hair near her ear. She looked down at her dress, brushing away an imagined crumb. "I do hate wearing black," she said to her orange tabby cat.
The cat closed his eyes and turned his head away.
Returning her gaze to the nearly empty street, Cecilia sighed. She watched a little girl as she made her way down the street. The child balanced on the curb, a small wooden box and a rather large book clasped to her chest. Cecilia recognized her.
"It's that Burgess child," she informed the tabby. "Walks the streets like a little tramp. Where's her mother? Sleeping off last night's adventures, no doubt."
Courtney Burgess paused in front of Cecilia's house, her eyes narrowed, her right pointer finger resting on her bottom lip. She bent over to deposit her box and book onto the sidewalk.
Watching, Cecilia leaned forward, her thin, narrow nose nearly touching the glass of the window. Her eyes widened. "That little tramp just picked a flower from my garden, right through the picket fence! Why, I never!"
She bustled toward the door, but froze when her hand grabbed the doorknob. A memory flooded her mind. Joshua Blake had arrived for Sunday School one summer day with a fistful of daisies for the teacher. When Cecilia had joyfully accepted the gift, had praised the youth for his thoughtfulness and generosity, Joshua had collapsed onto the floor, holding his abdomen as he convulsed in peels of laughter. It wasn't until she had returned home that she found her own patch of long-stemmed daisies massacred.
Cecilia dropped her hand from he doorknob. Joshua may have been a scamp, but he had been something else, too. He had sat through her lessons on the heroes of the Bible as if he were a dog chained to he stake. He had rolled his eyes at her lectures about the Ten Commandments. But he had leaned in, his lips pressed, his eyes intense, when she spoke about God's forgiving love.
And then he had made those odd connections-- blasphemous really-- between God and the pharmaceutical company, and those funny-- although inapporpriate, of course-- comparisons between Noah and Mr. Lord, and between the Ten Commandments and the town rules. And he had asked questions-- unexpected ones-- that made her pause and wonder.
She shook her head. Of course, she had known better than that!
She looked down at her black dress, her funeral dress. Today was the day, she only awaited the hour. A small smile played at her lips as she whispered, "Did you forget the rules, Joshua?"


***Carefully, Courtney placed her wooden box and the heavy book on the stone steps of the church. Gently, she placed the lily on top. She frowned. Maybe there was a rule about placing objects on the steps of the church. Perhaps, even, there was a rule about lingering near the church.
"There are so many rules, Joshua," she whispered.
She wondered how she would ever manage to learn all of them.
Of course, all the adults did seem to know the rules. Courtney suspected, however, that the rules were somehow written in the air and that, magically, only the adults could see them there. Every adult's gaze seemed to rest upon something invisible before them as they recited the rules.
Once, Courtney had asked her Sunday School techer to explain a rule. The woman had smiled, her lips pulled thin, hr nostrils flared. "What's to understand, child? It is a rule. That's all you need to know."
Courtney picked up her burden and then gave the bottom step a firm, swift kick.***


"Courtney Burgess," Vincent Leonard stated flatly. He watched the little girl saunter down the middle of the street carrying a wooden box, a large book, and a single lily. He knew who she was. He made it his business to know all the young children in town, especially those who might need his special attention.
He stepped out onto his frnt porch as she passed by, and then stood there watching her as she made steady progress toward the end of the street. He had heard that this little girl had potential, but his decades as a high school principal had taught him that the home environment either enhanced or encumbered. Vincent puckered his lips and blew air out through them, inflating his cheeks. As principal, he got to know two types of students well: the high achievers and the bad attitudes. The high achievers eventually became the pride of the pharmaceutical company. The bad attitudes inevitable broke the town rules and became a project for the special committee. He expected Courtney Burgess would become his personal project soon enough, whatever her abilities.
He looked down at his suit. He was wearing his favorite suit, dark gray, with a white shirt and black tie. He could be going into school dressed like this. But today, his duties lay elsewhere. Today, he faced the final resolution to students like Joshua and maybe Courtney: students he would always fear he had failed to know, failed to reach.
Vince slammed his fist against the porch pillar. "Why didn't you take my advice, Joshua?" he cried.


Sheriff Greg Fletcher buffed his badge and straighted his holster. He strode across his office and leaned over the counter to look at the wooden box that Courtney had brought for his inspection. He smiled. He liked this part of his job. He liked dealing with the kids.
"What'cha got?" he asked.
Courtney drew a long, deep breath. "It's Hippocrates. He broke the rules, and now he's dead."
The sheriff nodded as he peered into the box at the stiff corpse of Courtney's pet. "I see. But tell me, Courtney. What happened?"
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know. He wasn't supposed to go out at night or cross the street alone. And he was supposed to wear his collar. He took it off somehow. Mama says all those sinfractions add up."
"Sinfrac-- oh! Infractions." The sheriff sighed. "Yes, indeed they do."
"I brought him here for you to see, Sheriff Fletcher, that poor old Hippocrates paid the price of his misdeeds."
"Well, umm, thank you, Miss Burgess. But what are you going to do now?" He eyed the white lily and book in her hand.
"I'm on my way to see Mr. Porter at the mortuary."
Sheriff Fletcher glanced at his watch. "Well, you'd better hurry. There's a funeral scheduled for later today."
Courtney popped up, her small arm snaking over the edge of the counter. She grabbed the box, yanking it down to the floor. She reached back up again and snagged the lid. Without another word, she hopped out of the Sheriff's Office and scurried down the street.
Greg Fletcher laughed and shook his head. "That was one mighty, little dervish," he informed his deputy.
"Reminds me of that kid who played on you Little League team, the one with the red hair. Remember him?"
Fletcher nodded. He remembered all the kids he had coached through the years. Including Joshua Blake. Lord knows he had tried to reach that boy!
He sighed, grabbed his hat and dropped it onto his head.
"About that time, Sheriff?" the deputy asked.
Fletcher sighed aain. "You know, there are some parts of this job I just hate."


Humming, Barnaby Porter gently rubbed the coffin lid with a soft cloth. He smiled, strode away, and then pushed the cloth into a drawer of the desk at the far end of the room. He glance out the window. Today was a beautiful day for a funeral.
"Excuse me, Mr. Porter. Dr. Lewis said I should bring Hippocrates to you." A small child stood in the doorway.
Barnaby blinked. "Hippocrates?"
She nodded solemnly and held out a wooden box.
Barnaby approached, frowning. "Is Hippocrates in the box?"
She tipped her head slightly to one side. "Yes."
"Is he dead?"
She closed her eyes and nodded her head once. "Indeed."
Barnaby lifted his eyebrows. "I take it, he is not human?"
She snorted. "He's a cat."
Barnaby pressed his lips together. "I see." He swore softly under his breath.
The little girl lifted her face to him. "Excuse m?"
He waved it away with his hand. "I was just saying how thoughtful it was of the good doctor."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He studied her for a moment. He vaguely remembered her name. Courtney something. Whose brat was she anyway? "What exactly do you require?" he ventured.
"A funeral, of course." She smiled.
"But . . . but he's a cat!"
She put the box down on the floor, picked up a book from near her feet, and extended it toward him. "I found a good prayer. It's for bad people. It asks for forgiveness."
Sighing, Barnaby reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bottle.
"Is that a sample bottle from the company?" she asked with a jerk of her chin toward the pill bottle.
He sniffed loudly. "If you must know, yes. It's for anxiety-- like I get from days like these."
"Why?"
"I don't have time for this. What, exactly, do you expect me to do for you?"
"Just read the prayer," she answered.
Barnaby rolled his eyes. He snatched the book from her hands. "Give me that."
Courtney knelt down beside the box, picked up the white lily from the floor, and held it between the palms of her hands. She looked like a cherub in prayer.
Barnaby opened the book and began reading the prayer where she had placed a tattered bookmark. When he was done, he informed the box and its contents that all was forgiven.
Courtney stood. "I guess that's it, then."
"Except for the burial."
"There's a grave already dug," she informed him. She picked up the box, placed the book on top, and handed the flower to Barnaby. "Give this flower to Joshua. He can hold it in his hands."
Barnaby accepted the flower. "I'll be sure to make everything lovely for Joshua."
She smiled into his face. "I know you will."
He watched her skip back out the door.
"Everything will be just fine, Joshua," he whispered.


Chester Lewis asked, "What went wrong, Joshua?"
Joshua's stone face didn't even twitch.
Alma Randolph stepped forward. "Why, Joshua? Why did you do it?"
Joshua rolled his eyes.
Cecilia Wolcott's voice dripped from her smile. "Did you forget the rules. Joshua?"
He turned toward her. "Your rules."
"Why didn't you take my advice?" Vincent Leonard demanded.
Joshua puffed out air. "Why? I'll tell you why! Because it wouldn't have made any differenc. We'd still be standing here today no matter what I did. I didn't fit your mold. I couldn't fall in line. I was never right for your perfect little town, and there was no pill to fix me. I broke your stupid rules and now you're going to kill me."
The Sheriff sighed, pulled out his gun, and shot Joshua Blake point blank. "You know, there are some parts of this job I just hate."
Barnaby Porter gently caressed Greg Fletcher's shoulder before bending over the body. "Everything will be just fine, Joshua."


Courtney Burgess listened for the loud pop, sighing deeply when she heard it. "You see, Hippocrates? You have to follow the rules. There are certain people in town whose job it is to see that you follow those rules."
She sat down on the grass and tied a thin rope around the box. "Some people just don't learn how to follow the rules."
She stood up and tossed the box into the deep hole. "Don't worry, Hippocrates. You'll have company real soon. Joshua won't mind."
Laughing a deep throaty laugh, Courtney skipped away, pausing only once to dance on someone's grave.