Till the storm passes

Chapter 5: Piano Trio No 1 in B Major, Op 8

I have pleasant dreams once again. dreams of paper snow flakes, and a tree house. And when I wake the usual fears take a moment to set in. I sit up. The pain really is better. I still have whiplash but I feel less raw.
I find a clean sweater and tug it on, carefully over the injuries, before heading downstairs.
Down there the kids are playing with toy soldiers, and I can smell breakfast cooking.
"What time does your uncle get up?" I ask, passing them.
"He doesn't sleep," Mortimer says, pleasantly.
In the kitchen Charlie is making as competent of a breakfast as before.
"Um—I can help with that. Annoying, concussed house guest or no, I like, I don't mind I'm not doing anything I'm imposing enough as it is," I say.
He shrugs a bit, gesturing at plates to be set out, "We're glad to have you."
"Me too actually, I haven't talked to this many people or probably had this much fun in months it's—probably been good for me," I say.
Charlie doesn't respond, just looking down at the eggs he's making.
"You know if you ever get down to the city you're more than welcome to—," I begin. I'm interrupted a resounding knock at the door.
"I'll get it," Charlie says, raising a hand. Possibly he says this because of how I acted last time someone came to the door.
I follow him anyway, just in case it is I don't know, first responders looking for me.
The kids bounce up but let their uncle undo the locks on the big door.
He opens it to reveal a person, who I cannot stress this enough, obviously just rolled out of bed. I mean I have never seen someone who was so clearly sound asleep five minutes ago. There are sheet creases on his arms and face. He's still fixing clothing. His hair is standing up in five different directions. After a moment I realize he looks basically like Nathanial, save any tattoos and piercings and decent hair cut and clothes that don't double as pajamas.
"Right, these belong to you, KIDS your dad's here," Charlie calls, only to discover the kids are right behind him.
"Come on, you've bothered your uncle enough maybe—what's this?" The man just points at me.
"Ask your twin or the idiot," Charlie says. Oh they're twins they do honestly look very alike.
"Oh I don't care that much, come on," the man says, beckoning his kids.
"It was nice to meet you," Mortimer says, pleasantly.
"Thank you for staying," Phoebe says, grinning,
"What are we gonna do?" Mortimer asks his father, going to join him. They're not getting any bags or anything? I guess they stay with their uncle fairly often.
"Well I don't know what you're going to do today I am going to probably take a nap," his father says, rubbing his face. Again he clearly just woke up.
"Hi, I'm Rick," I say, since no one introduced us.
"You don't have to talk to each other, bye at least consult with your twin before you decide to independently disturb my life," Charlie says ushering the kids out the door.
"Whatever, come on," the man says, turning to go.
"Bye!" Phoebe waves at me one more time, before her uncle just closes the door.
"He was nice," I say.
Charlie sighs putting a hand over his face, "Storm's quit it looks like."
"Oh—oh you're right if he got here," I say.
"Yeah. I'm gonna take you home," he says.
"Yeah, um—I mean when you're free it's fine you're doing me the favor," I say, quickly.
"It's—fine."
"I should go change put on my sweatshirt don't want to walk off with your clothes—,"
"That was ruined, it doesn't matter," Charlie says, haltingly, "Just come on then. We should get going."
"Okay," I say, going to the door.
"We're going out the back."
"Okay," I turn around and just follow him.
He leads me to a back mud room, and door to the yard. It's still almost completely black outside.
"Are you sure the storm is passed?" I ask.
"Yeah, this won't take long."
He would know.
"Here, it's cold," he offers me a dark cloak. He's putting one on too, "Get's cold out there on the river."
"I mean if you want to wait for the sun to come up—,"
"Don't want another storm to blow in," Charlie says, but he's back to not looking at me. Maybe seeing his brother upset him? The brother did dump the kids here. It's probably not my place to ask.
He leads me out into the yard, it's still completely dark it must be before dawn. I forget what time the clock said without a phone to check I feel completely thrown off.
The ground is rocky and I can hear a river up ahead.
And, I don't know what boat I expected us to be taking, but I really was anticipating something other than an actual skiff. Like something with a motor. I was anticipating motors being involved. Not a stick of questionable veracity.
"This is the boat we have available not one that will be less likely to capsize this is what we're going with?" I ask, as nicely as possible, folding my hands.
"Get in the boat," Charlie says, flatly.
"Yeah okay cool, cool, getting in," I climb in carefully.
He pushes us into the water, then climbs in himself. He still isn't looking at me.
"I know I talk to much, but I never have the right words for things so—thank you, for looking after me, the last couple of days I do—I know I act odd I appreciate it that's all," I say.
"You weren't trouble," Charlie says, quietly, pushing us off from shore.
It's a cold morning, and clear. Snow is gently starting to fall. I tip my face up. It is beautiful out. So clear after the storm. I feel surprisingly calm. It's peaceful.
"I ah—I'm not very good with people and interacting makes me nervous. Life makes me nervous. But I don't like it when people slip out of my life, so—sometime would you like to I don't know, talk again? I know I don't talk well but, if you'd text me or something I'd love to share book recommendations," I say.
"I'm sure you won't be that lonely when you get home," he says, quietly, "I'm boring we established."
"Well so am I we established so if you wouldn't mind you've already done me favors but I've liked talking to you. More than I like talking to anyone, in a while. And anyway—I know you probably don't get down to the city often or meet people and I don't go out and meet people but if you wanted to walk at a park or  beach or something someday when you're not busy which you are.... Never mind," I sigh. Why would he want to come all the way down to the city to talk to me? "I enjoyed myself actually, this past day or two. And I don't usually do that."
Charlie sighs, heavily.
"I'll stop talking now," I say.
"It's not you," he shakes his head, "Damn it."
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He doesn't answer looking out at the river. Then he turns the boat.
"What—what are we doing?" I ask.
"Doesn't matter," Charlie growls.
And then I recall my concerns about being kidnapped.
"I thought the plan was to go to that side?" I ask.
"No, not anymore," Charlie says, flatly, "Just sit still."
He's clearly annoyed so I say nothing and think of my concerns about being kidnapped. He's clearly taking us back.
"I'm sorry did I say something—?" I offer.
"No, stop talking a minute."
I obey, gripping the wooden seat beneath me. He guides us back to shore quite quickly, but it's the shore we came from?
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Get out of the fucking boat," Charlie growls, climbing out himself and dragging us on shore.
"I think I should just stop bothering you and—probably go on I am really sorry—,"
"Get out of the damn boat," Charlie repeats, snapping his fingers like I'm a dog. He gets out his phone and clearly starts texting.
"What happened to not having cell service?" I ask, frowning, "And what are we doing?"
Charlie ignores me completely, putting his phone away and staring off at the dark.
"Really?" Flash walks up, he's maybe sober, wearing his trench coat and a hat pulled down mostly over his face.
"You fucking owe me, you know it," Charlie says.
"What is going on?" I ask, looking between them.
"Calm down mate," Flash says, coming over to me, which does not calm me down at all, "You sure about this?"
"Just do it," Charlie says, rubbing his face.
"Your call," Flash says. He puts a hand on my neck.
And everything goes black.