It’s not a threat it’s a promise
The air hung thick with unspoken tension as the four girls walked away from the imposing stone building that housed Mayor Fortescue’s office. Yvonne, her usually bright eyes clouded with worry, broke the silence. “You were bluffing, right, Tunney?” Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with a desperate hope.
Petunia, or Tunney as her friends affectionately called her, didn't break stride. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, the cobbled street reflecting the stormy grey of the sky. She didn’t answer, her silence a heavy weight in the already charged atmosphere.
Lily, her younger sister, skipped a little to catch up, her brow furrowed. “Tuney, how are we going to blow up a dam? That's… that's huge!” Lily’s eleven-year-old mind struggled to grasp the enormity of the threat.
Emma, ever the pragmatist, even in jest, chimed in. “Yeah, Penny, I hate to break it to you, but how are we going to blow it up without dynamite, C4, or any of that fancy stuff? Are you going to ask the dam to crumble nicely?” She puffed out her cheeks, mimicking a polite request. “Mr. Dam, would you please crumble and ruin the Mayor’s reputation for us, please?”
Petunia’s lips curved into a small, humorless chuckle at Emma’s ridiculous impersonation. “Oh, Emma, you have a big imagination, that’s for sure.” She finally addressed the core issue, her voice low and serious. “If Mayor Fortescue doesn’t start fixing the dam within a week’s time, we proceed with our threat.”
Yvonne stopped walking abruptly, her hand flying to her mouth. “But Tunney, you forgot one detail! If we blow up the dam, people will get hurt, and we’ll lose our homes!” Her voice rose in panic.
Petunia turned to face her, her normally soft green eyes hardened with a steely resolve that was unsettling in someone so young. “No, we won’t. We’ll lose our homes if we leave the dam as it is. You’ve seen the cracks, Yvonne. If there’s too much pressure, there will be a tsunami waiting to be unleashed. However,” she continued, her voice becoming more measured, more calculating, “the rainy weather will be over by next week. The river levels will recede. There won’t be enough water to destroy the town, not completely. Enough to cause chaos, to make a point, to wash away certain… things.” She left the last part hanging in the air, a dark implication lurking beneath her words.
Emma, though still slightly bewildered, was getting a grasp of Petunia’s plan. “But… how are we going to get the dynamites?” She finally voiced the practical concern.
A flicker of a smile, a genuine one this time, touched Petunia's lips. “Don’t worry, Emma. I know just the place.” She glanced at her wrist, looking at her watch. “ it’s getting late and I have a violin contest to compete in, in five days.” The seemingly unrelated information hung in the air.
Lily’s face brightened at the mention of the contest. “Yeah! I can’t wait for the competition! I want to hear more of your violin music, Tuney! And I’ll try to convince Mom and Dad to come to the concert.”
Petunia’s face became grim, the smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared. She knew this was coming. The mention of Rose and Harold, her… parents, or rather, the people who had raised Lily, brought a sharp pang of complex emotions. Their relationship was strained, fractured by the truth she had reluctantly revealed months ago. But she forced a smile for Lily. “Sure thing, Lily. I’ll be waiting for you.”
They reached the familiar pastel green gate of the Evans’ home. Petunia waved at Lily as the younger girl headed towards their shared house. Lily waved back, her youthful optimism a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere around Petunia and her friends.
Emma leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Do you think your parents are going to tell her about… you know… your situation? The real reason why you left home and wanted to live with your grandma?”
Petunia scoffed, a bitter edge to her laughter. “Oh, please. Rose and Harold would rather protect Lily from everything and anything, including… me .” She didn't elaborate, the unspoken words hanging between them like a secret too heavy to share with innocent ears.
Yvonne, still wrestling with the moral implications, spoke up, her voice low. “I can’t help but wonder what will happen after… when we blow up the dam. Things are going to change drastically.”
Petunia nodded, her gaze distant. “You’re right. It’s going to change 360 degrees.” She paused, a cold glint entering her eyes. “And after we blow up the dam, the Mayor’s drug business in those warehouses he owns… they’re going to wash away in the river.” The true purpose, beyond just the dam itself, was finally unveiled.
Emma’s eyes widened. “But… we still need money for her grandma’s surgery! Seriously, what was the use of going to that fat pig’s office if we couldn’t get anything from him except threatening him?” Frustration laced her tone.
Petunia sighed, rubbing her temples, the weight of her plan pressing down on her young frame. “Emma, the reason we went there is to get a clear picture of his office. To see the security, the layout. When the day of the competition comes, we’ll sneak into the office and steal his money. And no one would suspect it’s us because we’ll be at the concert, playing the violin.” The pieces clicked into place. The violin contest wasn't just a contest; it was an alibi, a distraction, a perfect cover for a heist.
“Come on, guys,” Petunia said, shaking off the weight of her plans and forcing a more cheerful tone. “We need to go back to our homes. We have school tomorrow.”
Emma groaned dramatically. “Ah, why do we have to go to school? I mean, seriously, isn’t it our job as women to be housewives in the future? Why bother going to school anyway?” Emma’s naive, outdated views about women's roles, likely picked up from somewhere in their small, somewhat traditional town, always grated on Yvonne.
Yvonne’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Emma, would you rather stay at home and do all the housework chores with your mom instead of going to school? Because that’s the life of women ‘200 years ago’ – seen as good for nothing but a breeding mare.” Yvonne, despite being only eleven, possessed a sharp wit and a keen understanding of history, thanks, in part, to Petunia's subtle nudges in her education.
Emma burst out laughing, realizing the absurdity of her statement when put into such stark terms. “ on second thought, I like school. At least I can hang out with you two.”
Petunia waved her hand at her friends, a weary smile gracing her lips. “Okay, okay, bye guys. I’m going to Grandma’s. Take care.”
They waved back. “Bye Tunney! See you tomorrow at school!”
As Petunia walked towards her grandmother Daisy’s slightly dilapidated but cozy cottage a few doors down, her mind raced, replaying the conversation, solidifying the plan, and bracing herself for the immense risks they were about to take. She pushed open the familiar creaky wooden door. “Grandma, I’m back.”
Her grandmother’s voice, though frail, was warm and welcoming. “Petunia, darling, you’re back.”
Petunia stepped into the familiar scent of lavender and old books. "How are you feeling today, Grandma?" she asked, her voice softening with genuine concern as she approached the armchair where Daisy was nestled beneath a crocheted blanket.
“Oh, I’m… managing, dear. Although I’m a bit short of breath sometimes.” Daisy’s hand fluttered weakly, a visible tremor in her aged fingers.
Petunia’s heart clenched. “We need to get you to London Hospital as soon as possible, Grandma,” she said, her voice firm, brooking no argument.
Her grandmother’s eyes, the same shade of green as Petunia's but faded with time, looked at her with a gentle sadness. “Petunia, darling, I know you told me… about leaving this world within two years. Maybe… maybe this is for the best.” A quiet resignation filled her words.
Petunia’s resolve hardened, her future knowledge becoming a burning fuel within her. “No. It’s not for the best.” She knelt beside her grandmother’s chair, taking her frail hand in her own. “You have no idea what happened when you left me, Grandma.” Her voice trembled slightly, the memory of the bleak, sterile future threatening to overwhelm her. “I tried. I tried to reason with Rose and Harold, but those two just… sold me off to Vernon Dursley to pay off their debts.” The bitterness was palpable, even in her child’s voice. “Please, Grandma, just hold on for a little longer. Until summer break. We’ll get you to London. I promise.”
Daisy squeezed Petunia’s hand, her gaze filled with love and a hint of worry. “But how are you going to get the money, darling? You still haven’t told me.”
Petunia held her grandmother’s gaze, her green eyes unwavering, filled with a determination far beyond her eleven years. “Grandma, trust me. I won’t allow you to die this lifetime.”
Daisy’s lips curved into a soft, accepting smile. “All right, darling. I will trust you. But please… please be careful.”
They hugged, a close, comforting embrace, the fragile warmth of Daisy’s love a beacon against the storm of uncertainty and danger brewing outside, a storm Petunia was about to unleash, all for the sake of saving the woman who had always been her anchor in time and space.
As soon as Lily entered, she was greeted by the warm, familiar scent of Rose’s cooking and the booming, cheerful voice of Harold. “Lily-flower, you’re back!” Rose emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes softening as she saw her youngest. Harold followed, his broad smile encompassing Lily in a wave of paternal affection. “So, tell me, Lily-flower, what adventures have you had today?”
The family settled at the dinner table, the comforting routine a stark contrast to the chaotic storm brewing in Petunia's mind. Lily, bubbling with childish enthusiasm, recounted her day. “Oh, nothing much, Daddy. We played spies today! And… and we visited the mayor’s office!”
Rose’s eyebrows rose in gentle amusement. “Oh? Spies, huh? And what did you need with the Mayor?”
Lily, her cheeks rosy from the late summer heat, beamed. “To threaten him to do something about the dam! and doesn’t start fixing it petunia would blow it up”
The fork Rose was raising to her mouth clattered against her plate. “What?” Her voice was a bewildered whisper. “Your sister… said she’s going to blow up the dam? Don’t be ridiculous, Lily. Lily, first it’s this sudden violin playing, and now this nonsense?”
Lily shook her head vehemently, her childish sincerity radiating outwards. “I’m not lying, Mummy! Petunia says that if we don’t blow up the dam, there’s going to be a big tsunami in Cokeworth if it’s not blown up! She said so!”
Rose slammed her fork down on the table, the sudden noise making Lily jump. “That’s it! This has gone far enough! Harold, you need to talk to your mother. As soon as possible.” Her voice was strained, on the verge of cracking.
Harold, his usual jovial demeanor fading, sighed deeply. “Yes, dear, I will talk to Mother tomorrow. About our arrangement.”
Lily, caught in the crossfire of adult anxieties, was completely lost. “What arrangements, Daddy?”
Rose waved a dismissive hand, her gaze fixed on some distant, unseen point. “Nothing for you to worry about, dear. And… and what else did Petunia say? Anything else about… violence?
Lily tapped her chin thoughtfully, mimicking Petunia’s mannerisms without realizing it. “Hmm… I think… I think she wants to strangle the mayor too.”
Both parents gasped in unison. Rose pressed her hand to her forehead, her face paling. “What?”
Rose felt a throbbing starting behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a migraine. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her perfectly applied makeup suddenly feeling like a suffocating mask. “I raised a menace,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “And now she’s going to become a murderer.” The thought, as outlandish as it seemed coming from her eleven-year-old Petunia, sent a chill of genuine fear down her spine. Something was terribly wrong with Petunia, terribly wrong, and Rose was beginning to suspect it was far beyond just childhood mischief.
Dunkin Fortescue, the beleaguered mayor of Cokeworth, found himself trapped in a surreal reality, one that blurred the lines between childish bravado and impending doom. The faint sounds of laughter and shouting from outside his office served as a stark reminder of the young girls who had turned his life into a living nightmare. Petunia Evans, the ringleader of the bunch, was the epitome of innocent mischief—at least on the surface. But to Dunkin, she was a pint-sized harbinger of chaos, her golden curls bouncing with every threat she had hurled his way.
After pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, Dunkin plopped down in his overstuffed chair, running a hand over his nearly bald head in exasperation. "Damn little shitty blonde," he muttered to himself, contemplating the precarious position he found himself in. If Petunia decided to report him—over what? A few missed deadlines on the dam project?—his entire career could come crashing down. But the thought of her actually blowing up the dam? That was absurd. Or was it?
Just then, a sharp knock at the door broke his train of thought. It was Jordan Bartholomew, his cousin and supposed partner in crime—or, more accurately, partner in incompetence.
“Someone has a bad day,” Jordan quipped as he stepped into the office, his voice dripping with mockery. “What’s got you so frightened, cousin? Did you get scared by little girls?”
“Shut up, Jordan,” Dunkin snapped, trying to drown out the laughter that echoed in his mind. “Let me enjoy my whiskey in peace.”
“Come on now,” Jordan replied, settling into a chair across from Dunkin. “Aren’t I your partner in crime? Crime as in you being a drug lord and me doing the dirty work.”
Dunkin couldn't help but roll his eyes at that remark. “Tell me, cousin, what’s the situation with the dam?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from his growing anxiety.
Jordan looked taken aback, as if the question itself were a rare gem. “It’s still standing,” he said slowly, “I’m surprised it’s still standing, to be honest. We’re supposed to break it down and rebuild it ages ago, but I know how stingy you are with money.” He paused, glancing around the office before leaning in conspiratorially. “I also heard from your lovely secretary that four little girls came by. What happened? Did they threaten you?”
“Actually, they did,” Dunkin admitted, his voice lowering.
Jordan raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. “And what did they say?”
“That if I don’t fix the dam, they’d blow it up,” Dunkin replied, his heart racing at the absurdity of the words.
Jordan erupted into laughter. “Blow it up with what? Fireworks?” He shook his head, the incredulity evident in his expression. “You worry too much, cousin. These little girls are bluffing. They just want to scare you.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dunkin said, forcing a chuckle. “There’s no way those little girls could actually blow up an entire dam.” But even as he said the words, a sliver of doubt crept into his mind.
Meanwhile, across town at the Evans household, the atmosphere was a different kind of tense. Harold and Rose Evans lay in bed, the remnants of their earlier conversation hanging heavy in the air. They had just tucked their youngest daughter, Lily, into bed, but the unease lingered.
“Harold,” Rose said, breaking the silence. “I’m serious. There’s something wrong with our daughter.”
“What daughter?” Harold scoffed, his tone biting. “Have you forgotten that she severed ties with us? She threatened us to expose her secret about not being my real child to Lily. She doesn’t see us as parents; she sees us as strangers.”
“I know,” Rose replied, her voice softening. “But I still believe Petunia needs help. I will talk to daisy tomorrow about the psychiatrist.”
Harold sighed, the weight of their estrangement pressing down on him. “Fine, but we can't force her to see anyone. She’s determined to do whatever she wants, even if it means threatening the mayor.”
As the two lay back in bed, each lost in their thoughts, neither could shake the feeling that something terrible was brewing. Little did they know that the fate of the dam—and perhaps even their family—was about to unfold in ways none of them could have anticipated.
Petunia tucked her grandmother into bed, her brow furrowed with worry. Daisy’s breaths were shallow, each one a painful reminder of the ticking clock. “Don’t worry, Grandma,” Petunia whispered, smoothing a stray white hair from Daisy’s forehead. “Everything will be alright.”
But inside, Petunia was far from alright. Doubts gnawed at her. Blowing up a dam? Stealing from a mayor? This wasn't some futuristic simulation; this was real life, with real consequences. Yet, the alternative – letting her grandmother die and facing the bleak future she knew – was unthinkable.