Fifty Shades Returns

CHAPTER ONE

It's been about twenty years since I've lived in Seattle and frankly it hasn't changed a bit. Clayton is still opened and at large with more members taking up the hardware store after my mom left for my dad. Honestly I can't put together how she worked in a place that doesn't play to her qualities. She's all books and knowledge and yet she works at a hardware store. Odd.
Nevertheless, it's nice that I pass down that part of the street and into Seattle again. I hope to make a huge surprise out of mom. I want her to go "hey, what a surprise!" Chances are that I'll do it before Phoebe gets here tomorrow, as of now all I hope is for a sweet hug and kiss to the cheeks when I step of the welcome mat.
Now that I think about it, the towers in Washington have changed slightly, about every one of the towers hits a cloud in the sky. All are bigger than dads enterprise, which will now be passed down to Uncle Elliot soon enough.
As I reach the interstate leading me into the suburbs, I'm reminded of my father and my purpose for being in Seattle rather than a lovely visit. They've already picked out his casket and all that's left is for me to come and give my last few words of love to him.
Soon Elliot will run Grey empire for real estate and soon mom will remain a widow until she plans to remarry again; which I doubt.
I'm nearing home when I catch the eye of a Mercedes almost about to hit my left tail light. He flips me the bird and drives off. I'm pretty sure he's not from here. His face told me New Yorker but his finger gesture said Chicago. Like a reverse pinky up when drinking tea, he sticks his thumb out with that finger and like a finger gun pointing up at his roof and the thumb acting as the hammer pulled back. Honestly it's a great sight to see that brings me home.
Home is a nice little blue house with a knee high grass and a second drive way. It's also two stories high which means I'm bunking with Phoebe again like when we were kids. I'm not sure why I don't have my own bedroom. With all the money dad has established towards this family the least I can do is have a room. But, knowing mom, she wants simple.

I park in the driveway and get out. A nice bouquet is strangled in my arms as I climb the steps I knock on the door. Two seconds later I'm greeted by her brown hair, near sighted glasses, and her English Tess D'ubersville by Thomas Hardy stature. God bless America, she made me read that book! And I can say without a doubt it was boring. But it made her proud, and that's all I can over her.
"Teddy," she gives me a smile. She bits her lip, but not in the way you may think. She bites it by my sudden appearance. It wasn't at all like I imagined but I guess I'm that over the top with my creativity. I could be thinking of soup and I'd imagine it sprouting legs and dancing in my tongue.
"Hello mom," I say with my great endeavors.
"I thought you were D.C. Working for the president or something."
Oh the thing she thinks. Apparently I haven't let her in on my rejection to the secret service. They are strict nowadays about protecting the president. It seems they need more than my GPA and hands on training to handle this kind of jobs. Based on my persona, the other secret service think I have a much better chance as a mall cop. How despicable.
Of course I can't allow mom to think that of me. So I prepare for a lie I haven't done since I was a senior in high school.
"Oh no I'm off duty. Heard my powerful and rich father was ill and they let me be."
"How generous. Come inside, you'll catch a cold," she wheezed out.
It's as if one of the devils disciples stoked her spine to make her wheeze. I forgot all about the chilling weather when I arrived in Seattle. I guess I should get in and reunite with my home.
I see home as a magical place where creatures of beauty like sprites and fairies roam in two dimensional drawling to grant me salutations. I'd like to say hello back if they were actually in front of me. Instead I smell cough syrup and staile out dated medicine. Medication is never enough to save pop from cancer.
"Awe, are these flowers for me?"
"You and dad actually, I correct.
"They're lovely. Although they need more water."
Just as she leaves to the kitchen I find the hallway leading to the living room vacant. Underneath it I swear I can hear every cough and hacking of snot escape my fathers throt. It's awful. Think of all the cures out there and not one out there to expensively pay for to treat him. It's possible that they may have already made a cure, but like dicks they keep it a secret as if it's something from Area 51. If it were up to me, I'd find a cure and market it like it's the world best wine. But there I go imagining again.
As I make myself comfortable, I hear a flush from the restroom in the hallway I recently passed by. Out in a pink skirt and dark eyeliner is Phoebe proud to beat me to the punch. Gosh who's  next to come out a door, Ava? No, Ava will be here tomorrow mourning.

Phoebe, on the other hand, is my sister and she has come prepared in the best attire she could wear. Aside from the skirt, her body moved about like she just lost her cat. It's staggering that I'd finder like this, especially after a graceful encounter with mom again.
I want to stand up and share my hug with her, but she much rather be alone to her thought.

Of course being daddy's little girl doesn't change how she has grown accustom to dads likes: fabulous cars, Charlie Tango, and the enormous variety of clothes. In youth, I think this was dads way of pleasing Phoebe so that she wouldn't be thinking about boys.
As cliche as us children can be, I became more affiliated with moms likes. The world of English literature opened up new possibilities for me. Though Hardy is a skip, the works of Orwell, Hawthorn, Brontë, and Austin were a complete masterpiece. I'm still left with returning back to 1984 on occasions of morbid emotions. As of now, I chose to read it on my Kindle.

Dinner is about to begin. And before I can seat myself down. I make my fist stop towards dads bedroom. Phoebe already came in to make amends now it was my turn. The entire room, as I saw it, looked like a graveyard at night. It was dark with curtains drawn dark, clothes drenched on the floor, and the moans and groans of ghouls coming from the grave. Though those ghouls so happen to be my father, Christen Grey.

"Dad," I say, making sure I know where my Converse hit on this dingy floor.
"Come in, son," he calls. I walk towards him.
In the grim loss of light, I spot his hair shaven to the core of his clean head, no doubt the cancer beating him until he conceives.
His hand find my cheek in the dark. It's cold, a chill of frosty bits pinch into my skin. He's fading farther and farther for God knows how long he's been in this bed. I fantasize how it's still not to late. And that I still have a fair shot to fly halfway around the world to force a scientist at gun point to find or give me a cure. But again, I'm fantasizing, a lack luster excuse to avoid the inevitable.
"How have you been?" Tiered and sad. Also I lost my job...so...Surprise!
Rewarding him with these thoughts is a possibility, giving a festive lie like mother would be insulting to his death. Besides dad might as well take the bait off of my fish hook and accept that I'm loss without a job.
I inform him thistly and take a seat when he begins to stoke his face down to his chin.
"Jesus, son, what happened!"
"Simple I applied like you said, but a degree isn't enough. Apparently, Secret service nowadays want retired military experts to act as a one man artillery."
I'm not sure what else I can say that will disappoint him even more. I might as well leave it for him to validate that for me.
"Don't worry, kiddo, I understand. I was just hoping to see my boy in action after all these years. And now I'm given this news..." he exhales and wheezes a loud cough, but the girls don't bother to come in. "...but it's okay. I know some things are not meant for everyone, like your mother and I when we were young."

Recalling the years of my fathers Fifty Shades days, is lukewarm at best. I'm reminded of their years when they were together: mom interviewed dad, dad showed her his world, had break ups, make ups, enemies, and finally marriage. The cliff note version of this story is much better said than in detail. Something the disturbing can't be reminded. And yet I feel like today in my humble years of twenty, I will be dads next Fifty Shades.
"I'd rather not think about that," I mutter.
"Of course. Though I want to you to have something..." he unleashed a cough that warmly spread up my face. His hands was lost in the covers of his blanket it be a challenge to get them out. On another downward spiral, his voice was loose over the edge, his saliva slipping out of his lips and his words spoken incompletely. Words such as "I love you" were easily slurred into "I lugh ya-oo."
"There," his eyes show a envelope with my name on it, Theodore Raymond Grey. The envelope seemed empty, save for the small hump inside. The hump was thin and distinctly shaped that in the dark was hard to visualize. "My will to you. Cherish it well." He hugged his breathing as I grasp the envelope and rip it open. No note but just a single gold unscathed key in my hand. It's teeth were smooth with slight scratches. It's been used more than once. I know what this key is. It belongs to Escala, dads old penthouse. It opens a specific room. The Red Room of Pain.