The Mask Man In The Woods

8.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and titled my head. "My biological papa was an angel in the sky before I was born. My step-papa was really who raised me along with my mama."

"Where's your step-father?" He asked, his attention focused on me.

I kept my eyes on the painting. "He died when I was around eleven."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Tristian's gloved hand clench as if holding something in. "I'm sorry for your lost."

I shrugged. I heard that too many times. "It happened a long time ago. It doesn't matter."

Tristian cleared his throat and neatly folded his hands together. "It does matter. He clearly is someone important to you."

"Was." I corrected, but Tristian shook his head and stared at the pictures. It was difficult to pinpoint which picture he was looking at.

"No matter where that person is, dead or a hundred miles away, they're still here. Sometimes you cannot sense their presence, but they are."

"You speak like a wise old man, who sits under a 'magical' tree and mediates all day." I joked, elbowing him. He didn't budge. I cleared my throat and composed myself. "But I do see where you're going with this. Who told you that?"

Tristian hesitated and shifted away a little. "My older brother."

I was taken back by that. "Brother? You live with someone?" I asked, forgetting my rules of not asking anything too personal.

Tristian lowered his head down briefly. "No," He said, voice void of emotion, but I was able to detect his sadness. "He passed away. I live alone."

I reached up and rubbed his shoulder. His body tensed under my fingers, but I didn't pull away. "It sucks losing people, huh?"

Tristian finally titled his head towards me. "Yes. It does... suck."

-------

The rolled windows allowed the wind to blow my hair around, but I didn't mind. I liked feeling the wind and hearing the roar of it as we zoomed past the vacant road.

Mr. Steven gripped the steering wheel and exhaled loudly. I reached over and gently patted his hand.

"Relax, Mr. Steven. My offer still stands y'know?" I reminded him, sitting up and kicking my bag to the side.

He exhaled deeply and shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I can drive. It's just... I feel like something is going to happen."

"A good happening or a bad happening?"

"Honestly? I don't know." He sighed, his fingers relaxing before he gripped the wheel again.

"Well," I paused, thinking of what to say to calm his nerves. "The worse that can happen in a locked hospital is a deadly virus breakout that turns everyone into zombies."

Mr. Steven chuckled. "Don't tell me you started watching that new zombie TV show."

"You mean The Walking Dead?"

He nodded.

"No. I mean I've wanted to, but I... got caught up in other things."

"Good. Don't watch it. Every Sunday night, I hear my neighbors crying and yelling at their television. 'No, don't kill him. No, don't eat that.' It drives me crazy."

I laughed and leaned back. "Yeah, TV shows have that power. When my son was around four, he was crazy about Blue's Clues and every single time I grabbed the mail, he'd sing 'We just got a letter. We just got a letter. We just got a letter. I wonder who it's from.' I started hiding the mail after four months of hearing that."