Charles Alblice has always led an ordinary life in Birchtowne. He enjoyed the company of his cousin, Quinn, and their best friend, Michael. The three lived their lives as carefree as any other teenager would.
But life in Birchtowne gets messy when...
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
Charles must have drifted off in his exhausted state because the next thing he knew, Aunt Kris was hollering up the stairs for him and Quinn to come down. He bolted upright and ran a comb through his hair; his uncle hated when they didn't look presentable.
He tossed the comb on the bathroom counter as he passed, entering Quinn's room to make sure he didn't need any help.
"Have either of them come up to see you?" he asked, lending a hand to help Quinn out of bed.
"Why would they?" he said weakly. Each breath he took seemed to pain him.
Charles only let go of Quinn's arm when they reached the top of the stairs. They went down together, Quinn wincing with every step. When they walked into the kitchen, Aunt Kristen had already set the table and put the food out.
"Good evening, boys," she said.
"Evening, Aunt Kris," Charles replied. He filed past her to take his seat at the table.
She didn't seem to be in a bad mood today. Maybe not a good mood, but passable. If they did everything right, he figured dinner could get by without any hitches. That depended on his uncle's mood, though. His mood usually mirrored Aunt Kris's, but there had been exceptions in the past.
Charles just wished their temperaments were consistent. Then, at least, they'd be predictable. He would take mean and grumpy all the time over unpredictable every time he was given the option. The good moods were almost worse than the bad. They felt suspiciously like thin veils used just to manipulate them.
"Quinton." Aunt Kristen's voice pulled Charles from his thoughts. He whipped his head around to look at the two others standing in the room. "What happened?"
It would be almost an endearing question of concern for Quinn's well-being, had it not been for the stern tone and almost threatening glare that accompanied the words.
"I just had a rough practice," answered Quinn. He faked a small smile. "I'll be fine."
She examined him for several long seconds, fear creeping into Charles as every single bad thought ran through his mind. She saw right through the lie. Quinn would be in worlds of trouble. Would Quinn even be allowed to leave the house after this? Finally, Aunt Kris let out a half-hearted sigh. "Boys," she muttered.
Quinn pushed past her, keeping his head low. He collapsed into his chair across from Charles and the two shared a relieved look.
Their looks fell when Uncle Glen came booming into the room. His stomach entered before the rest of him did. When they were very young, he had been primed for hug-giving at all times. His round face was always lit up with a smile and his gentle eyes invited you to tell him all of your troubles. He hardened after Charles's mother died. They were twins and had grown up very close. He became prone to fits of rage and since Aunt Kris had never been a particularly kind person, she didn't mind the shift in Glen's demeanor. As far as Charles knew, Aunt Kristen had always been the same. He could never understand how Glen hadn't left her before his change.
