Good Company

Chapter 17

~August 19th 1974~ 

Breathe in. Relax. It's okay. They're fine. Now ring the doorbell. Good. Fuck, breathe out! OUT! Phew, that was close. Moron. Take that weird grin off of your face, you're not going to ruin your chances right away. You're not that stupid. 

Roger took a step back and waited for the door to open. He'd worked out this moment over and ove in his head, yet nothing could satisfy him. The truth is that nothing ever could, not with other people ruining it. His dad had passed away. His mum got addicted to booze and left him to raise his sister Clare, who was only two years younger than him. When he was sixteen, his first girlfriend, Annie, died of lung cancer after an inmense stuggle for life. He lost all contact with Clare when he moved to London. His mates at the university didn't want anything to do with him ever since he came out as homosexual. The love of his life was in prison for a crime he didn't exactly commit and their foster children were living with an abusive loonatic. Just great. 

'What are you doing here?' Paul's Irish accent never failed to annoy Roger, but his face was also a good beacon of irritation. 

'It's John's birthday. I'm here to see him, and Freddie.'  Paul shifted his weight from one foot to the other and folded his arms on his chest while looking Roger up and down. 

'I don't think you're allowed to do that.'

'You may have ruled out Brian's attendance, but I didn't have any charges. It's completely justified that I may see the two children I've taken care for for six months. Now let me in, or I'll let in myself.' Roger took a step forward, and Paul stepped aside to let him in. 

'They're upstairs. Make it quick, you've got fifteen minutes.' 

He skipped every other step while making his way upstairs, thoughts about abuse and neglect flashing through his mind. A bright yellow door appeared at the end of the hallway and he gently knocked on it. 

'Yes pops?' My god, Roger thought, John hasn't been this quiet since Christmas. What could he have done to them? 

He pushed the door open and found the room surprisingly disturbing. There were no photographs, drawings, posters or any decoration. In the corners stood two beds, neatly made, and in the middle was a giant wardrobe. Next to the window was a built-in closet and that was it. No toys. No signs of playing. Just a plain room. Roger felt like the walls were closing in on him, but he was snapped out of his trance by a soft child's voice. 

'Roger? Is it really you?' 

John was huddled in the corner that was out of sight because of the open door, and Roger closed it to make sure Paul wouldn't get suspicious. He sat down next to John and pulled him into a  hug. The kid stiffened up by the touch, but Roger didn't let go. 

'I've missed you so much, kiddo. So much.' A tear decorated the corner of his eye, but he didn't want to upset John so he refrained himself. 

'John? Where's Freddie?' 

'He's in the laundry room, why?' John fiddled with the white sheets, refusing to make eye contact. Which was strange, for he'd learned how to look people in the eye after spending a lot of time with Roger. 

'I've brought some presents for the both of you, since I probably won't be able to come see you Freddie's birthday. I also have a card from Brian, but you have to keep that a secret from Paul.'

'Who's Brian?' 

Roger felt a sudden panic rising. 'John, he's your father!' 

'No, that isn't right. Paul is my father. I've lived with him for as long as I can remember.'

Roger got up and paced around the room. What the hell is this shit? Why would Prenter do something like that, it's not like there's anything in it for him.. Or is there? Why would a guy like Prenter claim his children, only to make them forget about their father? There's something fishy going on. 

'John, has Paul ever taken you somewhere you didn't want to go? Or done something you didn't want?' 

John shook his head. 'No, pops is good to us. He feeds us and lets us go to school. I'm grateful for pops and I mustn't question his will.' 

'Did he tell you to say that whenever someone asks about it?' Roger lifted John's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. For a second, he saw a glimpse of insecurity, fear, but the kid straightened his face almost right away. 

'No. We never see people. People are dangerous, he says.' 

'Johnny, how come, if you don't remember Brian, you do remember me?' 

'Silly Roggie, you were our babysitter for half a year! How could you forget about that?' 

Fuck. Something is very wrong here. I need to call the police. 

'John, don't be scared, everything's going to be okay. I'll get you out of here, I promise.' 

Roger quietly left the room after hugging John goodbye and leaving the presents on the beds, anxious to run into Paul. He made it to the front door, but it was locked. He tried to break through, but someone stopped him. He was struck on the back of his head with something hard, and he felt nausea coming up. He turned around to see Paul with a golf club in his hand. 

'I don't think you should be going anywhere with that wound on your head, do you? Come with me, I'll take good care of you.' Roger stumbled backwards, but Paul got to him and piloted him into the darkness. 

A/N: heya guys, sorry it took me so long to update. it'sprpbably trash but I needed to do something so here it is, another chapter. i feel like i'm writing myself into some sort of stalemate, but I'll guess there's no avoiding it. byeeeee ;)))))