"Hi Jam-Jam!" Static crackled over the receiver, as Felix Foster talked to Jamie from Sacramento City.
"Hey Dad!"
"How are you guys?" Her dad asked, and she heard the sound of shuffling papers in the background.
"Fine. How about you?" she asked, grinning, as she avoided the completely obvious question. It was driving her crazy, not knowing.
"I'm good. What have you been—"
"Did you get the job?" Abby yelled over Jamie's shoulder into the phone.
"Hmmm, let me think," he said jokingly.
"Just tell us!" Jamie shouted.
Felix laughed. "Yes! I got it! I did!"
Jamie and her mom started clapping and cheering into the phone.
"I'll be home by tomorrow afternoon, and then we can sort things out."
"Love you Dad," Jamie said.
"I love you Jamie, Abby."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Jamie sat at the table with the phone in her hand for awhile, before standing up, and putting it away. She climbed up the stairs to her room and sat down on her bed.
After a moment of contemplation, she walked over to the window, and stood between the curtain and the glass. It felt different in the evening. Instead of cool glass and warm house, the glass was warm, and the house was air conditioned. She looked at Mr. Forkle's yard, where he sat, rearranging the garden gnomes. Every little while he would stand up, and move over to the more remote gnomes. About twenty little men sat before him, in a complicated pattern. His work became more frantic.
   From her vantage point, his arrangement of gnomes almost looked like a swan. But it was weird, because the neck was raised, as if the swan were calling, or trumpeting.
   The Song of the Swan. The Swan Song. Beautiful, but sad.
She wondered where that train of thought had come from.
Jamie sat down on her bed, and grabbed a sketch book, and flipped to a clean page. She grabbed a pencil, and began to draw. The figure took shape. It was Mr. Forkle. Except he was younger. And he sat by a lake, with swans flying around him. But as she began to shade the shadows in the picture, her pencil began to darken the swans too. Until they were black. Black Swans. She felt like she was just the one holding the pencil, as it seemed to have a mind of its own. It crept across the page, perfecting the shadows, and light spots, until the image looked startlingly lifelike.
The picture took shape quickly, and she didn't have much time to admire it, but drawing it strangely warmed Jamie's heart. She would have this timeless picture of Mr. Forkle forever.
She hesitated before filling in his face. What should his emotion be? Is he happy, to be in such a magical place? Is he angry that birds are swarming him? Is he sad? She wasn't sure what he would be sad about, but something felt sad about the drawing. She settled on making him calm. He sat in the centre of all the glorious birds, with a Zen expression on his face. Eyes closed, hands at his sides.
As she finished drawing his calm facial features, a feeling came up her spine. It wasn't exactly the tingles, but it felt strong, like a wave of energy. Frantic energy. Powerful, only if such a thing can be harnessed. Words flashed through her brain.
   Battle cry.
   Primal scream.
   Final call.
   Swan Song.
Jamie jumped up, upsetting her sketch book. The pencil clattered to the floor, and she neglected the nearly finished drawing. She raced to the window. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Something horrible was happening.
Mr. Forkle wasn't anywhere to be seen. Instead, people walked around the front lawn. A sign post sat in the grass by the road. It was blurry from the lengthy distance between Jamie's window an the neighbouring front lawn, but what the sign said would  not stay a mystery to Jamie for long.
   Jamie raced down the steps of her house, to the doorway. She slipped on some shoes. She shivered at the temperature change. It was oddly chilly for an August evening. She walked outside, to the sidewalk. Her arms were wrapped around herself by the time she was over to the sign.
Her heart stopped, when she leaned down and looked at what it said. Her brow crinkled in confusion, as she read the words again, wondering if this was all some elaborate ploy to scare her. She could imagine Coco snickering from her bedroom window, as she watched Jamie puzzle. But surely there wouldn't be people looking at the house if the sign was fake. If it was all just a joke, people wouldn't take it so seriously.
   With a flood of emotions, the past two weeks caught up with her, and she crumpled onto the grass. Her hands fell to her sides, and her mouth fell open. She wondered how this had all happened so quickly.
Because the sign told her that Mr. Forkle was gone.
The sign itself wasn't the scariest part. It read "FOR SALE."
No harm there.
   Houses didn't get sold instantaneously. All of the papers and stuff took time to sign.
But the note slapped across it in bright red paper was the problem.
Because it read "SOLD."

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